Darkness Reborn
by Caitriona3
Summary: Once more the world approaches the end of an Age...and Darkness seeks to claim the Age to come. Gandalf must reawaken the souls of the past in order to prevent the final destruction of all they fought to save in a time beyond legend, beyond myth...in a time when Men were but one Race among many. (AN: Yes, I cheated on all the last names! Future story in "A Safe Haven" universe!)
1. To Begin Anew

_Author's Note – Original Prompt by Anonymous: The Company is reincarnated into the modern era. Only one of the company (Bilbo? Gandalf? Thorin?) remembers and knows that he has to find the others and trigger each their memories with a different object/situation/whatever. Basically, I'd like to see what the individual memory triggers are._

**Darkness Reborn**

"_Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it." _

A distinguished looking white-haired man in a business suit stood and stared at the sign for a long moment before humming in disapproval. Lips pursed, half-hidden in a neatly trimmed beard, as his mind ruminated on the message. It was true enough in its own way, at least for individual men, but how absurd they were to limit it so. The teaching belonged not only to this generation, but to the entire race of Man. Empires rose and fell because men refused to acknowledge simple truths – even the most basic of truths.

Evil existed.

It existed in the hearts of all sentient beings, yes, but it also existed in and of itself. People thought to explain it away with their new psychology or medicate it away with their new drugs. Every generation attempted the same – every generation failed. Every generation presumed they knew so much more than their forefathers. The man turned from the poster, shaking his head. For untold millennia he would visit the world of Men, sometimes happy, sometimes not at the changes wrought, but always he remained a step back – a mere spectator. The time for his direct involvement had long since passed.

And yet…

The signs began to appear once more – signs familiar, yes, but also signs unwelcome. Signs he had not seen since before the turning of the age. As they grew clearer, he had been instructed to visit and walk the world once more to learn if something beyond the ken of men threatened all life once more. He explored and searched and researched…and he came to one overwhelming conclusion. The world prepared for the return of an ancient evil…and those who would serve that evil began to prepare as well.

Then one day on the cover of a magazine…he saw the surest sign of all.

Red-gold hair slicked back from a ruddy complexion; sly brown eyes glittered with golden flecks. The very picture of health, a man both familiar and unfamiliar stared out of the glossy page: 'Famous or Infamous? Wealth, rumors, and suspicions abound in Drake Benedict's life. Just who is this man?' A ridiculous title. The white haired man gave a soft snort. As if a journalist, no matter how enterprising or determined, would figure out that answer! Let the red-haired billionaire call himself 'Drake' or whatever he wanted – he could not hide his true self from those with the eyes to see.

Smaug, fire drake from the North, had returned in human form and appeared to be up to his old tricks – with more cunning and less fire perhaps, but still possessing a dark and twisted desire for gold.

"_Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it." _

Once more the white haired fellow turned back to the poster and considered the words upon it. Words echoed in his mind, words spoken by a rich feminine voice: "History became legend. Legend became myth."

His own voice whispered through the air. "And some things that should not have been forgotten were lost." The world had long since forgotten the truth of dragons, let alone Dwarves, Elves, and Wizards.

It appeared he would need to set things in motion yet again to defeat a dragon. For surely, if Smaug was here, than so to should the Company be reborn – for theirs the fate to deal with him, regardless of the Age. How they would deal with this incarnation…that was hidden from him for now, but it mattered not. First things first: he had to find them. The world needed the fourteen of them once more.

Thorin Oakenshield and his Company needed to be awakened once more.

He could still see them in his mind's eye, thirteen Dwarves and their Hobbit. Proud Thorin stood in front of his nephews, the adventuresome Fíli and the exuberant Kíli, acting as both leader and father-figure. Near them one would always find wise Balin and hot-tempered Dwalin, kinsmen to the royal line. The same held true for their cousins, the canny Ôin and suspicious Glôin. Shy Ori would have his brothers flanking him as crafty Nori and the fussy Dori sought to protect their younger brother. Three more Dwarves rounded out the thirteen – unstable Bifur, optimistic Bofur, and the quiet Bombur.

They made for quite the merry gathering.

The thought brought to mind the fourteenth member of their band of adventurers. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End would forever hold a special place in his heart – indeed, in the hearts of all those who remembered the ending of the Third Age. A Hobbit, one of the settled and peace-loving Shire-folk, who had been accorded respect and honor by the mighty across three Races, Bilbo once touched the one of the greatest evil relics to ever foul the surface of the earth and yet he remained, for the most part at least, a good and honorable soul. The Company would need him.

Gandalf, called Gabriel McKellen in this age of Men, nodded to himself. His work began anew, signaling yet again the approach of an end. A new Age prepared to dawn and its shape could well be decided by the new confrontation between the Company and the Dragon.

Eru help them all.

"_Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it." _

It took several months, but Gandalf finally found the first of those he sought. Another three weeks went by before he could get into see the man, though perhaps that should not be so surprising. The man did happen to be the only heir to two large companies – the Aiken Mining Company and Durward Jewelers. No doubt his schedule was full – between management issues and meetings and who knew what all – but that did not prevent Gandalf from grumbling as he took a seat across from the man.

"You're a difficult man to get a hold of, Mr. Armitage," he groused.

"A deliberate choice, Mr. McKellen. Too many people attempt to lay claim to my time." Thorne Armitage lifted an eyebrow at his guest. "You spoke of a stone that belonged to my family?"

Gandalf gave a quiet harrumph and looked at his host. Short black hair streaked at the temples in gray gave him a look of distinction and he stood a good deal taller than his previous incarnation, but Gandalf would have known him for the blaze in his eyes. This man knew hardship – heir or no – and he appeared to be no stranger to hard work. Good, he would need all of the fire he could muster. "I did," Gandalf nodded in agreement, opening his briefcase and pulling out a small leather pouch. "I did indeed." He held out the small bag. "I return that which has long been held in anticipation of this day."

Sharp blue eyes looked him over as the other man reached out and accepted the offering. "And how did you come into possession of this if it should be with…" Thorne's voice trailed off as he pulled out the glowing gem famous in ages past as the Arkenstone. A shiver ran through the tall frame and the dark head dipped for a moment before the lines of his body straightened once more. New authority and old wisdom slid into place beside one another as his eyes focused on Gandalf once more. "Gandalf."

"Hail and well met, Thorin, King under the Mountain," Gandalf replied, a small hint of a smile hovering over his lips.

"Why?"

Gandalf did not pretend to misunderstand the simple and yet complex question. "The Company is needed," he replied, simple and forthright. The man before him knew the ways of Wizards and would respect honesty more. Reaching into his bag, Gandalf pulled out a magazine and set it in front of Thorne, face up. "The turn of an Age is coming."

Thorne leaned forward, examining the face on the cover. An icy gaze swept up to meet the Wizard's soft look of concern. He sighed and tapped his fingers on the magazine. "Smaug."

"Yes."

"And you would have me deal with him?" Thorne lifted his brows in question.

"I would. He will not fool you as he has done so many others." The Wizard paused. "But I would not have you do it alone. Never alone," Gandalf told him, a sparkle of mischief entering his gaze. "After all, a dragon is a bit much for one man…even one in human form. I would think a group would be better…a veritable Company in fact."

A new light, one of hope, flickered in Thorne's eyes. "My friends? My Kin?"

"I'm tracking them down now," Gandalf reassured him. "The bond between you…it has a unique feel to it and I am able to trace it. I'm getting close to them…very close."

"And Bilbo?"

It was Gandalf's turn to flick an eyebrow. "Is he not counted among your 'friends'? Or is he something else entirely?"

A faint flush of shame dusted Thorne's cheeks. "I count him as friend, but he-"

"He forgave you."

"I know." The whispered words rang with a confused uncertainty.

"Fear not," the Wizard rapped his knuckles on the arm of his chair. "Hobbits were really quite remarkable creatures, and I doubt he's lost any of the qualities that make him 'Bilbo'. I look forward to finding him – along with the others."

Now a smile glimmered through the short, neatly trimmed beard. "So do I," Thorne nodded. "So do I." His eyes fell once more on the glowing stone in the center of its desk. "Gandalf, the Arkenstone..."

"It has been cleansed," Gandalf replied. "No longer shall it be a source of temptation or danger to anyone save through beauty alone."

"Dangerous enough," Thorne huffed, but real amusement threaded through his voice.

"True, as all beautiful things can be, but I think you will not let such affect you," Gandalf mused. "Not in this life."

"No, not in this life," agreed Thorne. "My failure in the past caused enough damage. I will not repeat it now."

"Let us not dwell on it either," Gandalf told him in a gentle voice. "You have paid for any failures of the past and they are not shadows to darken the present. Your memories were not returned as a punishment, but as a guide. You would not have grasped the danger so quickly were you not reminded of the truth."

Thorne closed his eyes and remained silent for several long moments. His shoulders straightened and his mouth grew firm. "Agreed," he nodded as he opened his eyes once more. His gaze flickered from Gandalf to the Arkenstone. Placing the stone back in its leather bag, he moved to a wall safe and tucked it away. "Let it remain there until needed or the world ends," he murmured.

A hint of pride entered Gandalf's expression, only to be wiped away before it could be seen. "When I find your kith and kin, where shall I direct them?"

"Where….?" Thorne mused on the question before his face lit with an idea. "I have a place in Colorado," he told Gandalf. "Let them go there. It will be private and we can discuss things openly without worrying about prying eyes or eavesdropping ears."

"No Gamgees then," Gandalf muttered, amusement twitching his lips.

"Who?" Thorne gave him a confused frown as he jotted down the location and directions on a sheet of paper.

"Never mind," the old man laughed. "An old memory. Very well then," he nodded, accepting the information. "I shall continue my search while you prepare for visitors."

"If they come." A shadow passed over Thorne's face. "One dragon is enough in any lifetime."

"They will come," Gandalf assured him, his voice saturated with confidence. "I will all but guarantee it."

"Let's hope you're right." Thorne folded his arms over his chest. "One thing I did learn the last time – I can't do this alone."

Gandalf nodded, giving a shallow bow of his head before leaving the once, and possibly future, king. He breathed a sigh of relief. "One down," he murmured. "Thirteen to go."


	2. A Good Day

_Author's Note: Well, I hope you enjoy this next chapter! I'm having fun plotting this out. Remember – if they seem awfully familiar, I stole the last names from the actors of the people in question. (I got a little lazy on names…sorry!)_

**A Good Day**

It looked to be a good day.

Gandalf sat on a bench, smoking a pipe and musing over the vagaries of life. His unexpected discovery of two lines of the Company bond leading to the same building proved both fortuitous and curious in a rather theoretical sort of way. The two men he now sought had shared much in their previous life – bonds of blood and friendship, two great quests, and even found death near to one another. How fitting they should now share a place in life, though all unknowing of the connections between them. He knocked the ash out of his pipe with an absent-minded motion and rose to his feet. Enough lollygagging about – he needed to go in before he was late for his appointment.

A bright smile greeted him as he entered the office. "Good morning!" chirped the young woman behind the desk. "Do you have an appointment?"

"I do," he replied, his serious expression offset by twinkling eyes. "Gabriel McKellen."

"Oh, of course, I have you here," she nodded, her face still set in pleasant, cheerful lines. "If you'll have a seat, Dr. Stott will be ready for you shortly."

"Thank you." Gandalf sat near the window and watched as the people outside scurried about, running hither and thither as if the fate of the world rested on their shoulders. He chuckled to himself – he should not be so quick to judge. Had he not seen the fate of the world rest on even less likely shoulders during his lifetime? Perhaps one of them did bear such a weight…and if not, then perhaps it was the end of their own little world they sought to avert.

"Mr. McKellen?"

"Yes?" He looked up to meet another cheery look.

"Dr. Stott will see you now."

"Thank you, Miss," he nodded, rising and making his way into the inner office.

An older man sat behind the desk, a serious expression in his eyes as he finished making some noes on the page in front of him. Gray-white hair fluffed about his face while a matching beard flowed down from his chin in a more tamed fashion. He looked up as Gandalf took a seat. Warm brown eyes crinkled in a professional smile.

"You would be Mr. McKellen, then?" Dr. Blayne Stott gave him a curious look.

"Indeed," Gandalf nodded, a touch of humor flickering through his mind.

"Excellent!" Blayne moved a folder and glanced down at his calendar. One eyebrow lifted in surprise. "It seems my assistant forgot to note anything in regards to what brings you to my office." His gaze moved back to meet Gandalf's eyes. "I'm not sure how I missed that earlier as I generally prefer a little more information before meeting a patient for the first time, but perhaps you could tell me what brings you to seek counseling?"

"I have little need for a counselor," Gandalf replied as he lifted his briefcase into his lap.

Confusion entered the other man's face. "Then why make an appointment?"

"I've found people are much more agreeable about meetings when they are scheduled than when they are sprung unexpectedly." Gandalf chuckled. "I must admit to getting quite a lecture once upon a time from a very dear friend for my bad habit of popping up without warning. He would be glad to know I have finally learned my lesson."

Blayne's wrinkles deepened in amusement. "Old friends have the best impacts, do they not?" he replied, a hint of laughter in his tone. "Very well then, if you do not need my professional services, what brings you to my office?"

"First and foremost, I have something to return to you," Gandalf told him, pulling a small cedar box out of his briefcase. He placed it on the desk and sat back. "I believe this will answer some of your questions," he continued as he clasped his hands together in a loose grip and rested them on his lap.

"Some amazing woodwork," Blayne murmured as he drew the box closer. "Are these…runes?"

"Yes," the wizard agreed, "ancient ones at that."

"Curious." The doctor opened the box, a bemused frown crossing his face as he reached in to pick up its contents. "A scrap of…is that paper? And more strange writing." His fingers touched the parchment and his entire body seemed to stiffen. He took a couple of shallow breaths before sucking in a much deeper one. His eyes flew to meet Gandalf's – still warm, but sharpened as his past experience as the consigliere to a king in exile bolstered his new life's education and proficiency in deciphering men's motives and emotions. "Tharkûn," he offered in cautious greeting.

"Master Balin," Gandalf smiled at him. "I am pleased to see you once more."

"Why?" Blayne asked. "Why stir these memories now?"

"The Company is needed." The wizard's face grew solemn. "I would not disrupt your life if I did not believe it necessary." He paused. "I have already found and awoken Thorin."

"Thorin?"

The shock and hope mingled in that whispered question brought a soft smile to Gandalf's lips. "Yes, I have found him, though he is now known as Thorne – Thorne Armitage."

"In this day and age," Blayne tilted his head, "why would the Company be needed?"

"I need to see a fellow on another floor first," Gandalf replied with a slight shake of his head. Humor glittered in his gaze. "It would be easier to explain once rather than repeating myself. Perhaps you would like to accompany me to meet him?" His lips quirked to the side in a small grin. "Or, to be more accurate, to renew your acquaintance?"

"Who?" Blayne demanded, coming to attention as he comprehended the cause behind the wizard's jollity. "Who else is here?"

"Come and see."

The two friends, wizard and man, strode down the hall to the elevator. Blayne glanced sideways to Gandalf as the elevator began moving. "And this Armitage…it's truly Thorin?"

"Yes, my friend, he is," Gandalf smiled. "Thorne Armitage is Oakenshield reborn. He awaits the Company's return."

"And my brother?"

"Dwalin…has proven difficult to pinpoint," he admitted. "My research has identified most of you, but he seems to move around as much as I once did when I wandered the lands of the various Free Peoples." Gandalf placed his hand on the other's shoulder. "Never fear, I shall find him."

"It should be impossible to miss someone you did not remember only a few hours ago," Blayne shook his head with a sigh, "and yet… I have always felt as though I were missing pieces of my life. Now…now I think I begin to understand."

"Perhaps." Gandalf considered it, musing as the elevator came to a stop. He stepped forward, his companion following, until he arrived at the correct door. For a moment he paused and leaned against the wall. "I believe you – all of you – earned your rest. You should yet be resting with your kin and awaiting the coming of Dagor Dagorath." His brow furrowed. "The path of the future is unclear, but I believe you would not have returned unless it was necessary for the Company to come together once again." Blayne nodded, but remained silent and Gandalf turned towards the office door.

A small sign beside the door held a simple inscription – 'Olin Callen: Pediatrician'.

"Ôin," Blayne breathed out, his voice tinged with excitement.

"Yes, so it is." Gandalf shook his head. "It quite startled me to find both of you in the same building."

The doorknob did not turn and Blayne's hopeful expression faltered, but the wizard gave a small huff of annoyance. He touched the knob a second time and this time it turned without hindrance. They stepped into a jolly looking waiting room. Toys littered the corners and the walls sported and old-fashioned fairy tale motif, complete with a dragon in one corner.

"There's always a dragon," Blayne muttered with a shake of his head.

"How did you two get in here?"

The sudden question drew their attention to the other door. A man of around the same height as Gandalf stood there, frowning through his spectacles at both of them. He had no beard, but he did possess a full moustache – and they would have known him even if he had been clean shaven. Blayne drew in a quick breath and shifted to move forward, but he stopped as the wizard put a hand on his arm.

"Well?" Dr. Olin Callen demanded. "We're closed for lunch – and I know that door was locked."

"Our apologies for the interruption," Gandalf replied, "but we needed to bring you something and now truly was the most convenient moment."

"Oh, alright," Olin heaved a sigh. "You might as well come in and sit down if it's important enough to break into my office." He led them into a small break room and took a seat in front of a half-eaten meal. They took the other seats and he lifted both eyebrows. "Go ahead then," he nodded to Gandalf. "What's so urgent it couldn't wait?"

The wizard reached into his briefcase and pulled out a small metal pestle. "I believe this is yours," he noted, placing the object on the table next to the food.

"I know what it is, obviously," Olin frowned, "but I can honestly say I've never owned a metal one. It's not as though I go mixing up my own concoctions." He gave a soft snort. "At least not anymore. They get touchy about that sort of thing. Haven't done it since I did some work in the jungle."

"And yet this is yours," Gandalf nodded at the gleaming pestle.

Olin reached for it even as he shook his head. "And I'm telling you I never owned…" His voice trailed off as his fingers brushed the shiny surface of the metal. He blinked – once, twice, three times – and then gave himself a good shake. Dazed brown eyes shifted from Gandalf to Blayne and back again. "Dratted wizard," he muttered before blinking his gaze clear. "That's quite a shock to throw at an old man," he informed Gandalf before a smile broke over his face. "Though I'm glad enough to see you." Now he looked back towards Blayne. "Cousin!"

"Kinsman!" Blayne rose and threw his arms around Olin. The two shared a quick, but fierce embrace before pulling back to look at one another. Blayne laughed. "I knew you as soon as I saw you."

"Aye, well, you had an advantage of meeting the wizard first," Olin pointed out before patting his cousin's shoulder. They exchanged another hug before sitting back down. Olin's gaze shifted to the smiling figure next to them. "So, master wizard, what's the meaning of all this? I take it for granted there is a reason – you wouldn't be doing this for nothing."

"I thought the same," Blayne interjected, "but he thought it would be easier to tell us together."

Both men looked at Gandalf, curiosity clear in their gazes and he pulled a magazine out of his still-open briefcase. Placing it face up on the table, he pushed it towards them. They looked down.

"Smaug!" Blayne pulled back, anger and fear chasing each other across his face.

Olin frowned. "The dragon came back in human form?"

"He did," Gandalf agreed, his voice heavy with unhappiness. "And that is why I have searched you out and begun to awaken the Company. A new Age is dawning and I believe it will be up to us to prevent evil from claiming it. They will undo all we once fought to achieve."

"The others?" Olin asked.

"Thus far I have spoken only with Thorin, reborn in this time as Thorne Armitage." Gandalf straightened in his seat. "He has summoned…no, that is inaccurate. He has _requested_ the Company join him in a new quest. Will you go?"

"My assistant is going to be terribly unhappy," Olin noted in an offhand manner. His eyebrows rose as the other two frowned at him. "What? She's going to be swamped with cancelling appointments and sending them to other pediatricians. It's a family emergency, so she'll understand of course, but that doesn't mean she'll be happy about it."

The three shared a laugh and Blayne nodded at Gandalf. "Yes, master wizard, we'll be going."

"Good."

Gandalf left the two men to their planning, both of them promising to head to Colorado in as short a time as possible. He stepped into the afternoon sunshine and gave a sigh of relief. "Almost a full quarter of the Company already assembled," he murmured, turning his face to the warmth of the sun.

Yes, it was indeed a good day.


	3. Last of the Elders

_Author's Note: My current plan is to finish having Gandalf find everyone and then do a chapter or two on their arrival in Colorado from Thorin's POV. Wish me luck!_

**Last of the Elders**

Gandalf walked into the building, a slight frown furrowing his brow as he made his way down the clearing hallways. He appreciated education and approved of the general concept of its universal availability but sometimes he wondered about the forms this educational system took in the modern day. Teaching to standardized tests as though the children's individuality did not matter. Worse – teaching modern fads as though they shared the same historical weight as a more classical education! On occasion he did consider the value of the old ways – even among the less civilized cultures of Men. At least their children knew and appreciated their own people's history instead of scoffing at it in favor of newfangled technology.

Never mind that for now – he had a man to find.

He followed the small tug he could feel in his mind. That line between the heart of the Company and his goal wavered and stretched, still thin and weak as the dwarf at the other end remained quiet and somnolent within the mind of the man. Despite this, he could feel the steady pulse as he drew closer. Each new member awakened and returned gave strength to all of the bonds – and here was a chance to continue. His steps quickened.

The room he turned into seemed to consist of several mini-kitchens lined up one after the other. Each possessed all of the major appliances as well as a sink and some countertop space. He could not recall seeing such a room before.

"Good afternoon." The soft voice drew his attention to the opposite door where a silver-haired man now stood. His hair lay in careful waves while a trim beard and moustache graced his lower face – a familiar face. Hazel-brown eyes held both welcome and inquisitiveness in their depths as they gazed back at Gandalf. Doran Hadlow appeared to feel at home in this strange room though the broad shoulders and calloused hands looked out of place. He tilted his head in a questioning smile. "Are you looking for one of the students?"

"No," Gandalf shook his head, "I am not. I came looking for you, Mr. Hadlow." He lifted his briefcase and placed it on one of the countertops, flipping the locks and opening it without breaking eye contact.

"For me?" Bemusement flickered in Doran's expression as his eyes grew cautious. "May I inquire as to why you would need to seek me out? I do not believe I have ever met you. Are you guardian to one of my students?"

"Indeed not." A chuckle escaped Gandalf as he lifted a small cloth wrapped package out of his case. "It has been quite a while since I was responsible for any single individual, though I feel those instances came out well enough in the end. No, my friend, I am here to return to you that which is yours."

Doran frowned and shook his head. "I don't know you," he noted in puzzled consternation.

"Please," Gandalf held out the package. "You will understand soon."

"I do not care for being kept in the dark," Doran informed him as he accepted the cloth bundle. "And I particularly dislike situations which may prove dangerous to students under my care. If this proves to be such a thing, you will very much regret entering my classroom."

"I assure you – I have no desire to cause any harm, either to you or to one of your students."

"One cannot be too careful." The teacher hummed for a moment as he unwrapped the package in his hands. "Particularly when it comes to the children." Confusion wrinkled his brow as he noted the hollow silver tube still resting in the folds of the cloth. "What is this?"

"A beard case."

Doran angled a repressive look at Gandalf. "What game is this? Did one of the boys on the team set this up?"

"Who?" The wizard blinked in honest befuddlement.

"In addition to teaching home economics, I am also the wrestling coach." the teacher informed him. "This has the feeling of one of their pranks. They are good boys, but a little too rambunctious on occasion. If they have put you up to this-"

"This is no prank," Gandalf insisted, interrupting Doran's flow of words as he closed his briefcase. "Regardless of what you choose to do with it, it is yours and I am happy to have returned it."

Doran heaved a sigh and pulled the case free of the cloth as he opened his mouth to reply. His voice seemed to catch in his throat and he remained silent, his jaw closing as he sagged against the countertop. Various emotions chased across his face – wonder, fear, joy, anxiety. Then he straightened, a fierce pleading entering his gaze. "Ori?" His voice shot out, filled with the banked embers of the loving devotion for which he had once been rightly famous. "Nori?"

"I am seeking them out, Master Dori," Gandalf assured him. "I will find them and offer them the same choice I have for you."

"What choice?" Doran demanded.

"To once again join the Company," the wizard continued. "To once more assist in facing down the evil bubbling beneath the surface of this current Age. Thorin awaits any who so choose."

Hazel brown eyes narrowed and then widened. "This 'current' Age?" Doran repeated. "Are we due for the next one then?"

"Yes," Gandalf nodded. "The end of an Age is upon us."

"What if one of us chooses not to go?"

"Then, with that one's permission, I will inform select others – family – where they might be found. They can be reunited in some other place and time." Gandalf held his hands up in a placating gesture. "I know of no other way."

"Ori will go to Thorin's aid," Doran sighed. "The lad always did have romantic notions." He shook his head. "You best tell me where I'm going."

"Colorado," Gandalf smiled. "You are not the first I have found, so there will be friends waiting for you when you arrive."

After leaving the pertinent information with Doran, the wizard left to continue his search.

While he might have expected one of Dori's brothers to be next, the bonds drew him out of the city to a small community deep in the Appalachian Mountains. The folk there gave him cautious looks, but returned his greetings in polite enough fashion. They seemed unused to strangers, but he could understand the desire for a simpler way of life. He could feel some of his own anxiety fade as he took in the well-tended gardens and modest homes. It wasn't the Shire, but it held a similar air. Wild nature and sprawling urban cities would never hold his heart in the same fashion as these little places where people tamed nature with a reverent hand.

Here people remembered the truth of the bond between people and the world – they were to be its cultivators, not its tyrants nor its slaves.

And here – amongst this unpretentious community – he would find another member of the Company.

His steps took him to the edge of the village where the two sides of nature – tame and wild – seemed to strive for dominance. The building here did not have a garden, but rather a collection of different types of local woods. Wooden sculptures dotted the space as well, each one possessing the delicate details that separate art from hobby. A true craftsman lived here, but from the scattered toys around a small collection of benches, Gandalf presumed the artist kept himself busy in other ways as well. Art might satisfy the soul, but the old stereotype of the starving artist wasn't a complete falsehood.

Furniture and toys would always have a wider market than mere decoration – and that showed in the rough sign hanging in front of the house: B. Kircher, Woodworking.

He followed the sound of hammering to the back of the house where a figure labored over a box-like structure. Black hair streaked with white stood up in all directions and a similar beard almost hid the compressed lips of the craftsman. The head turned and a flash of hazel-green eyes glinted at Gandalf.

"I'm busy." The gruff voice matched the wild exterior.

"I understand," Gandalf replied, a respectful nod acknowledging the work. He felt a glow of affection pass through him at the memorable shaggy appearance. It was gratifying to see so much of his old friends and acquaintances in the men he now met. "I wished to give you something and answer any questions you might have. I shall then leave you in peace."

Byford Kircher rose to his full height and turned. Although he stood a couple of inches shorter than Gandalf, it was difficult to tell with the full mane of wild hair framing his face. A scar stretched over the right side of his face, moving from his forehead to his ear, just missing his eye. He lifted an eyebrow at the wizard.

"Very well then," Gandalf nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small carving tool. It was something meant for delicate work such as carving runes with precision.

A work-worn hand reached out and accepted the tool. The same hand began to tremble, but his fingers never faltered. Byford murmured and muttered, rough words spilling from him, but nothing distinct. After a few moments he looked up through his bands to peer at Gandalf. "_Iraknaddadê?_"

"I am sorry, Bifur, but I have not yet found your cousins," Gandalf replied, though his eyes sparkled at hearing the first Khuzdul spoken in almost an Age. "I have some hints to their presence, but I can only follow the path as it becomes clear."

"The others?" This time Byford's question came in English.

"Thorin is in Colorado, waiting for any of the Company who choose to join him." The wizard sighed. "Unfortunately the Company is not alone in its rebirth."

"_Uslukh_."

He nodded. "Yes, Smaug too has returned – this time in human form. His arrival – and the wealth he hordes – can only presage something dark and wicked on the horizon."

Humor lit the stern face. "Hmm… 'By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes'?"

Laugh lines carved themselves in Gandalf's countenance. "Ah, Shakespeare – a wonderful playwright. A shame his kind of genius comes so rarely."

"What of the remainder of our Company? The other families and Bilbo?" The humor turned serious as the toymaker refocused himself.

"Some of them are already making their way to Colorado as they can," Gandalf told him. "The others – I am still seeking. The bonds between you strengthen each time and finding the path becomes clearer. I am hopeful. A clearer path means a speedier one."

Byford nodded, his eyes narrowing as he peered around his yard. "I can be in Colorado in a week."

"Excellent!" A sigh of relief slipped from the wizard's lips. "They will be happy to see you."

"And I them."

Gandalf pondered his latest discoveries as he left the Appalachians behind him. Thus far he had been led to the eldest of each family among the Company. Hopefully the grace of the Valar would continue to work and the younger members would be drawn to follow as well. More interesting – each man possessed similar gifts to his past life. Each man held to the same core personality and found ways to fulfill the drives inherited from their former selves – Bifur with his need to create beauty from something rough and ragged; Dori's need to protect and teach those he deemed younger or weaker than himself; Ôin and his drive to heal the hurts of the body; and finally Balin finding new ways to guide people in becoming better, stronger in and of themselves. It proved to be a promising beginning, but it also led him to wonder about the as yet undiscovered members. He looked forward to finding out.

"Yes, yes, very promising," he murmured as he turned his face to the north, feeling a tug towards the urban sprawl of the east.


	4. Halfway Point

_Author's Note: Some of this fought me, but some just flowed. I hope you enjoy. And yes, you will recognize some of the dialogue. If you've seen it in book or movie, then it's not mine!_

**Halfway Point**

"How do they live like this?" Gandalf muttered to himself. He sat on a bench near a small body of water in the middle of Central Park and frowned at buildings towering above him. It wasn't the city itself, though he'd seen both better and worse in his long years. Even the crowded conditions did not bother him – Minas Tirith at the zenith of its power felt the same way. It was any city – during any age. He didn't understand it then and he couldn't understand it now – how people could crowd themselves together this way.

He remained as he always was – a wanderer at heart.

Enough musing. His eyes turned towards the financial district and it's oddly named, though famous thoroughfare – Wall Street. An hour and a half walk should get him there towards the end of the day with enough time to make his next appointment. Gandalf rose and began walking.

A tug yanked hard on the intricate web in his mind.

Blue eyes cut through the crowds as they sought the source of the pull. The connection led his attention to land on a chattering group of men and women as they meandered down one of the many paths in the park. They seemed to be having a rather vigorous discussion on various wines, wineries, and vineyards. Some of them sparked dim memories, as if he might have seen them before, but none of them stirred the awareness needed to pull him away from his task.

Then he spotted the lone figure following the crowd.

A smile spread over Gandalf's face before he fully processed what, or rather _who_ he was seeing. He started forward and timed his movement to intercept the man just as the group turned onto a different path. It gave them a little more privacy as the Wizard planted himself in the middle of the walkway. A confused pair of brown eyes blinked at him before a calm voice offered a greeting. "Good afternoon."

Gandalf chuckled. He couldn't have asked for a better opening if he tried. "What do you mean? Do you mean to wish me a good afternoon or do you mean that it is a good afternoon whether I want it or not? Or perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this particular afternoon. Or are you simply stating that this is an afternoon to be good on?"

The man, once a hobbit bearing the name of Bilbo Baggins, stared at him before his lips curved up in amusement. "All of them at once I suppose," he shrugged. "Are you a wandering philosopher, or did an odd mood just strike you?"

"Both," Gandalf laughed, "or either. I have been called stranger things." He tilted his head. "Would you have a moment? I have something I would like to show you." Bemusement entered the fellow's eyes, but the Wizard quickly shook his head. "I give you my word, I am not trying to sell you something. I would just like an opinion."

"Okay, then, certainly. I don't have any pressing business."

Gandalf pulled a pipe out of one of his pockets. It wasn't his, but he often carried it as a reminder that everyone – even the smallest person – could change the world. He held it out.

"A pipe?" Slender, but calloused hands accepted the pipe only to spasm around it. The former Mr. Baggins all but fell onto the bench.

"Are you quite alright?" The Wizard tried not to hover, but it was difficult.

"Give me a moment." A few deep breaths and a few quiet moments later, those brown eyes looked up to focus on into worried blue. "Hello, Gandalf."

"Bilbo Baggins."

"Actually, it's Billy Freeman now."

"As you will," Gandalf nodded. "May I explain?"

"Oh?" Billy looked at him, eyebrows going up in surprise. "You do that now?"

"Hmph." The Wizard did his best to seem grumpy and out of sorts, but he could not pull it off. He felt too happy at this unexpected turn of events. Billy chuckled but indicated he should continue, so he set out his concern and the slow discovery and awakening of the company once more. "I have an appointment with another of your companions," he finished. "I was not expecting to find you here."

"I'm here for a convention," Billy replied in an absent way. He appeared to be mulling over the facts. He gave a nod, almost to himself, and then looked up. "I'll send word to my people back home. They can manage things for a while. The convention ends tomorrow morning and I planned to fly out the next day. I will see about getting my flight switched. I can be in Colorado in two days, three at most."

"Then you will go," Gandalf sighed in relief.

"Of course I'm going to go," Billy shook his head. "I'm certainly not letting them go on their own." He continued before the Wizard could reply. "So, who exactly are we going to see?" he asked, an expectant look in his eyes.

Gandalf felt a glow of accomplishment. Not only did he almost have half the company awoken and planning their journey to Colorado, but he already had Bilbo. The morale boost from his inclusion alone would carry the wizard through the rest of his search. Its effects on Thorin and company could only be imagined. For now, he needed to reach out to the one who had drawn him into the city.

The embellished nameplate bore the inscription – G. Hambleton.

He stepped into the large office and a smile came to his lips as he took in the décor. Family photos beamed at him from every surface. Gandalf's eyes softened as he took them in for here before him he beheld more than one familiar face. It appeared as though both father and son returned once more to participate in the ending of the Age. As they saw the Fourth Age born, so too would they see it close.

How very fitting…how very fitting indeed.

One picture in particular drew him. The family portrait contained all three family members in formal attire, but unlike so many posed pictures, this one held laughter and affection clear for all the world to see. Glynn Hambleton, who Gandalf once knew as Glóin, radiated pride as he stared towards his wife and their son. Her eyes held mischief as she glanced towards her husband, while the lad appeared to have been caught mid-chortle, looking like he might fall of his stool at any moment. Another wellspring of hope and joy blossomed within the Wizard as he stared at the youngster – even as this age the young fellow showed hints of the Dwarf who once journeyed with himself as a member of the Fellowship.

"Good afternoon!" The voice boomed through the office and Gandalf turned to meet a familiar gaze. Red hair and a trim red beard framed a ruddy face with bright eyes and a ready smile. That smile widened as Glynn's brown eyes moved to the portrait. "Ah, that's one of our best." He chuckled. "Not the one we sat for, mind you, that one didn't come out as well. The photographer snapped this one accidentally, but he made a pretty penny on it." Another laugh echoed in the room. "Well earned though – well earned." Pride still shone in his face as he patted the frame.

"You have a lovely family, Mr. Hambleton," Gandalf nodded in agreement.

"Thank you – I agree!" Glynn turned towards him. "So, Mr. McKellen, is it? What can I do for you?"

"I am here about something I can do for you, Mr. Hambleton," the Wizard smiled, eyes twinkling.

"Oh?" Glynn's eyes narrowed, canny suspicion entering his gaze. "Do tell."

The wariness did not dim Gandalf's cheer; indeed, it increased it, as it brought to mind the Dwarf who once drove the hardest bargain in all of Ered Luin. "Yes, yes," Gandalf chuckled, "let me show you." The Wizard placed his briefcase on a chair and opened it, pulling out a cloth bag. He handed the bag to the dubious financial advisor. "This is for you."

Glynn took the bag and opened the drawstring. "Why would you have something of mine?" he asked. "And how would you have gotten it?"

"It was given to me," Gandalf assured him. "And I sought you out in order to return it."

"I still don't-." A tremor ran through the man and he pulled out an odd contraption of metal and glass…odd to anyone else anyway. Glynn gazed on it and recognition flickered in his face. "My lens," he murmured, his voice seeming to deepen.

"Yours indeed."

Brown eyes darted up to meet the Wizard's gaze before skimming the nearby portrait. "My son?" Glynn demanded, anxiety building in his expression. "Is he going to…?" His voice trailed off as though he felt unsure of how to phrase his question.

"I don't know." Gandalf shook his head. "My knowledge, my insight only extends to the company right now. I cannot say if his memories will one day need to be awoken." His eyes softened in the face of such concerned paternal affection. "I would have allowed you to remain at rest, Master Glóin, if I could, but the company is needed – and I will not put such a test before you without full knowledge of what is faced."

Glynn glanced at the family portrait once more before focusing a warrior's gaze on Gandalf. "What test?"

A knock interrupted before Gandalf could answer. Both of them turned as the door opened. "Am I too early?" Billy asked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

"Not at all!" the Wizard enthused. "Come in!" He turned a brighter gaze on the now gawking financial adviser. "Glynn Hambleton, meet Billy Freeman."

"Gandalf," Billy rolled his eyes before muttering, "and to think Gimli called you grumpy."

An amused snort answered him, not from the Wizard, but from Glynn. "Sounds like my lad," he shook his head before giving up and chortling in amusement. "If that's not our burglar back and still full of cheek." The chuckles settled into a broad grin. "Bilbo Baggins!"

The two shared a quick embrace before stepping back to take a good look at one another. Gandalf leaned against the side of an armchair. "It gladdens me to see another reunion," he smiled.

The two voices answered him in overlapping questions. "Who else?" "The others?"

"Peace, peace!" Gandalf laughed. He looked to Glynn. "As I've informed out esteemed burglar-."

"You all really have to stop calling me that," Billy muttered.

"Perhaps," the Wizard allowed, "but if I may be permitted to finish, Thorin waits in Colorado for any who choose to join him." A self-satisfied glittered entered his smile. "Masters Bifur, Dori, Balin, and Óin are already headed there."

"Óin!" Glynn's head came up at that.

"Yes," Gandalf nodded. "Your brother has chosen to heed the call. He and Balin travel together."

Caution entered Glynn's voice. "Why does Thorin need us? Why stir up our past?"

"Smaug is back," Billy sighed, his nose wrinkling in distaste.

Glynn blinked at him before looking up to meet Gandalf's sympathetic gaze. Then he gave a disgruntled noise. "You'd think a dragon would make the news, no matter how pathetic reporting has become on a day-to-day manner."

"Oh, it's nothing so easy as that," Billy replied in an arch tone. "He's human now…and in the public eye."

"There's always something," Glynn grumbled. He thought for a moment and then sighed. "Ah, hell, I guess we're going to Colorado." His voice dropped back to a mutter. "Why can't they ever stay dead?"

"We approach the change of an Age," Gandalf informed him. "This generation of Men may soon see sights that have remained unseen and unknown for the thousands of years since Durin's folk last walked under sun and under stone."

"They're ill prepared for it," Billy frowned.

Gandalf shook his head. "They have no preparation," he corrected. "They have forgotten much, losing touch with anything beyond their ability to prove with the limited form of 'science' they possess."

"And they would think you mad if you tried to prepare them," Glynn nodded.

"Precisely."

"So we are to deal with Smaug and hope that is the end of it," Billy said in a slow, thoughtful voice, his eyes fixed on Gandalf.

"There is always hope, my friend," the Wizard pointed out.

"Yes," Billy agreed, his assurance leaving no room for doubt, "but if I find any rings this time around, you're dealing with them."

Glynn gave a firm nod, remembering the events that followed their own successful quest. "I don't want Goron having to retrace old steps as well. I want him to live out a peaceful life."

"Goron?" Billy prompted, and Glynn nodded to the family portrait. Billy's eyes widened and he laughed. "It looks like you're enjoying yourselves. It's a great picture," he complimented his old companion. His eyebrows went up in curiosity. "His name's unusual."

Now Glynn laughed. "Aye, and he's pouted about it since he was old enough to notice. It's a good family name though – goes back generations." He sobered, though his eyes remained soft and fond as they peered at his son's face. "And hopefully for generations to come." His gaze slid to Gandalf.

"I can make no promises," the Wizard reminded him. "If my will were to prevail, none of you would have been needed, but…" He let his voice trail off as he shook his head.

"I understand," Glynn agreed in a heavy voice. Then his shoulders straightened. "My wife and son are away visiting her parents," he informed them, "so I can go to Colorado for a time at least. I'll claim a business meeting perhaps."

"Tell them you've got a potential new client," Billy put in. He shrugged when the others looked at him. "What? I need a new financial advisor. I might as well use one I can trust."

Laughter rang throughout the room, bringing a strong sense of satisfaction to Gandalf. As long as good folk could find reasons for joy, humor, hope, and love, then the evil could be fought and held off and even defeated. His own courage grew as each man chose to rejoin the company, each man wanting that connection, that family more than he worried about what his own return – let alone that of the dragon – implied. It brought to mind something he once told the lady Galadriel.

"_I've found it is the small things, every act of normal folk that keeps the darkness at bay – simple acts of kindness and love."_


	5. Suspicious Amusement

_Author's Note: Thank you for the lovely, inspiring compliments!_

**Suspicious Amusement**

"I'm not buying."

The quick comment sent Gandalf's eyebrows flying to his hairline. "Indeed?" he murmured in his most dignified tone. "A welcome happenstance then," he continued, "as I am not here to sell you something. I have acquired an item that once belonged to you, and I am here to return it. Once I have done so, and answered any questions you may have, then you will not be required to deal with me further." He waited, curious on what response he would get.

Hazel-brown eyes narrowed in a pale face. "I wasn't aware of missing anything."

"Oh," the Wizard mused, "I doubt you would have even considered this. It's from a long while ago – another lifetime really."

"Then why would I need or want it now?" Curiosity belied the offhand question, but suspicion still dominated the man's expression.

Gandalf's own curiosity prompted him to push a little further. "Would you like to see what 'it' is before you cast it away?"

"Does it matter?"

"I am not here to play games – either of the word or of the mind." Now the Wizard cast his eyes to the heavens, tempted to ask Manwë for a few extra shares of patience. He'd known this particular one would be one of the more difficult ones, but he was beginning to think he might have underestimated the sheer stubbornness hidden within that crafty mind. One hand dipped into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small tissue wrapped object. Holding it out, he gave the other a no-nonsense look. "Take it or do not; look or do not – that choice is in your hands."

Long fingers accepted the object while a wary gaze continued to watch Gandalf's expression. Tissue paper created a whispered hiss as it was folded back to reveal a gold coin. Now those eyes blinked in surprise. "…is that…?"

Gandalf almost missed it – the reaction as a fingertip brushed the surface of the glimmering metal. A fine tremor in the hands, a small frown on the brow, and the merest hint of a tightened jaw…that was all the reaction he saw. It was enough. "Greetings, Master Nori – I am glad to see you once again."

"Nye."

"Pardon?" the Wizard tilted his head.

"My name – it's Nye. Nye Brophy if you want specifics."

"Of course," Gandalf gave the former thief a careful look. "Are you quite alright?"

"Define your terms." Nye gave himself a visible shake and a pair of too-old eyes looked up at the Wizard. "My brothers?"

"I've already spoken with Dori," Gandalf informed him, "but I've yet to speak with the youngest of you. I feel him somewhere in the west."

"Then they both live. They are both… Some of those memories…" Nye's voice trailed away. His eyes grew vague as he appeared to be looking into another place and time. Then he blinked and his gaze focused once more. His voice grew heavy. "I could have done without some of them." Silence fell between them for a long moment and then he managed a small half-smile. "Glad as I am to remember my brothers…and our friends."

"I can only say that this was not my first choice for any of you."

"No," Nye shook the melancholy off. "No, Master Wizard, I wouldn't think that of you." He lifted an inquiring eyebrow even as his lips quirked into another smile – one that combined acceptance and resignation. "If you've spoken to Dori and have looked into Ori, I presume you've been searching out the others as well?" When Gandalf nodded, he rubbed his chin. "You might as well give me the bad news. Tell me then, what went wrong this time?"

"You assume something is wrong?"

"I was a thief," Nye gave an exasperated huff. "I'm now a lawyer. Believe me, no one has ever mistaken me for naïve – in either life," he pointed out. "More to the point – you said this was not your choice for us. That means the reason is not something good."

"Evil is stirring," the Wizard replied, skipping any further delay.

"That's hardly new. If you wouldn't mind clarifying?"

"I am not talking about the shadows and shades caused by the choices of one of the free peoples," Gandalf emphasized. "I am talking of true evil – ancient evil."

Those sharp eyes fell closed. "Is it too late to pretend we haven't met?"

"If you would-."

"Rhetorical question," Nye interrupted, holding up a hand. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose before letting his hand fall back to his side. "Dori's headed wherever they're gathering?"

"Yes."

"Of course he is." The lawyer paced away for a moment before turning back. "He knows damn well that, unless he's changed too much, Ori will go." He gave a fond, if exasperated huff. "One's too much the romantic and the other is a mother hen. How the hell they ended up with someone like me I'll never know."

"You are so sure – of a gathering, of the others' reactions," Gandalf commented, his brow furrowing. "And yet I have given you almost no details."

"Let me tell you what I have," Nye told him with a dark chuckle. "I have an ancient Wizard seeking out and awakening a group of Men who once walked this world as Dwarves. And he's doing this because of some sort of ancient evil." He shook his head. "If a Dwarf can return before the end of days, why not someone…or something else." Those sharp eyes glanced around the sunlit street. "Thorin will stand – under whatever names he's got now, because that's what Thorin does. The lads…they always did want to make him proud, to follow in his footsteps – even if Fíli possessed more common sense than his uncle, thank Mahal."

Nye paused for a moment, his thoughts seeming to drift.

"Balin and Dwalin," he continued, "once they remember, you won't be able to keep them from going to the aid of Durin's sons. Glóin will go because his honor will demand it of him. Óin…he'd go because he'll still have that drive to make sure everyone makes it out alive and in as few pieces as possible. Bifur, Bofur, Bombur…they'll go because they'd never leave a companion behind or let one go into trouble alone. They're not the type. Then there's Bilbo – and he'll be sure someone will be foolish if he's not there to stop them." A quick flash of a familiar grin crossed the lawyer's face. "He and Dori are too alike."

"And you?"

"Oh, I'm going," Nye sighed.

"Why?"

"Because my brothers will be there," he answered. "Because I gave Dori back to stone and want to see him with my own eyes. Because I couldn't save Ori and I need to know his soul still lives." He took a deep breath. "And because if the rest of our companions can find it in them to face Smaug a second time, then so can I. They – more than any others in this life or the past – they are my kin and I won't let them down."

Gandalf made his way south, towards the place now known as Florida. His mind ruminated over his encounter with the new incarnation of Nori, son of Róa. The three brothers had been almost unique among Dwarves – to be known as the sons of their mother, but they clung to it. It gave them their public connection to one another. To have been known by their fathers…it would have been a break between them, a denial of their shared blood. A fond smile flickered over Gandalf's face – no matter how the three bickered or disagreed, no one could claim they did not feel a deep and abiding love for each other. That love drew them on the first quest – in defense of the youngest among them – and it would bind them to this new quest along with the bonds they formed with the rest of the Company.

That thought should be held and considered later – for now he had another man to find.

He tested the feel of the bonds and knew he drew close to his next encounter. The various encounters left him no real way to judge how the meeting would go. All of them reacted with varying levels of enthusiasm…or lack thereof. And yet the bonds held true. With luck – and a blessing from Varda – they would continue to do so.

Sunshine filled the sky and yet Gandalf seemed to be getting drenched in a bit of a downpour. "Confounded weather," he muttered, ducking under an awning. His attention focused so much on the weather afflicting him that it took him a moment to realize he shared his shelter with another figure.

A figure with a broad well-known grin.

"Sounds like you don't care much for our weather!" Hazel green eyes sparkled with humor. "Don't worry – give it five minutes and the little cloud causing this mess will drift off to bother some other piece of ground."

"Familiar with are you?" Gandalf asked, still a little surprised at the unexpected appearance of the very fellow he came to find.

"Ah, familiar enough. I like spending free time in the sun, but there's always got to be a cloud on the horizon in the afternoon." He held out a hand. "Balfour Nesbitt, at your service."

"I am called Gabriel McKellen." The Wizard shook hands and then tucked his hands into his jacket pockets. "Do you often have such a mixture of sun and rain at the same time?"

"A blessing and a curse," Balfour nodded. "A blessing with the moments of cool air and a respite from the heat…then followed by the curse of increased humidity." He laughed. "Welcome to Florida – land of sunshine, enchantment, and reclaimed swampland. Also known for beaches, talking mice, and the occasional alligator on the front lawn."

"Sounds quite exciting," Gandalf chuckled.

"Just watch out for the pickpockets – they love the tourists."

"I doubt they would find me so easy a target as they might think." The hint of self-satisfaction appeared in Gandalf's face. He pulled a thin object out of his pocket. Although he preferred to keep these old, precious items in his briefcase for their own protection, it would have been too difficult to cart the entire case around the city.

"Interesting looking instrument," Balfour commented. A shout from a passing car brought another quick smile to the man's face and he waved. Then he turned back to Gandalf with a shrug. "I'm not some big name like Liam Neeson or some such, but for some reason people still recognize me from time to time."

"Does it prove troublesome to be so recognized?"

"Ah, not that you'd notice," the actor laughed, "though I might feel different if I had a family's privacy to be worrying about." He eyed the item in Gandalf's hands. "Is that a flute? It's got an odd look to it…and the wrong number of holes."

Gandalf's eyebrows lifted in question. "Do you play?"

"Only a tin whistle," Balfour chortled. "And that looks close to it as well, but not quite."

"I think you will find that this instrument is quite unique in this day and age," the Wizard smiled as he offered the whistle to Balfour.

"Makes it even more of a curiosity then, doesn't it?" Balfour took the instrument and his eyes went wide. Surprise, shock, disbelief chased each other across his face and then a bright remembrance lit his eyes. Laughter bubbled up from the man's throat and spilled over, hanging in the air between them. "Only you, Master Wizard, only you! You're the only person I know in any life that could find a stranger in the middle of a rainstorm to give them a key."

"I have had practice at such," Gandalf acknowledged. "And a good day to you, Mister Bofur. I am glad to make your acquaintance once more."

"And the same back to you," the man replied, "though I'll admit to doing some wondering about the whys and wherefores of the meeting. Not that I'm not pleased to have been found, but I don't believe this is any kind of accident."

"This particular meeting…yes, it was unexpected," Gandalf replied. "I did, however, come to this place in order to find you."

"And why is that?"

"Let me explain."

Gandalf began explaining and neither man noticed when the rain stopped. Balfour remained quiet, listening with an intense expression on his face as the Wizard went through the story. Intelligence burned at the back of that steady gaze – an intelligence overlooked more often than not. While Bofur never possessed the learning of Balin or the craftiness of Nori, it had been evident – more than once – that he possessed a wisdom of the heart, one that let him see his fellows better than most.

Beyond that, Bofur know how to find joy in the simple things and how to laugh at the darkness.

And now, once again, laugh he did.

"The dragon's learned a new trick and half the Company's coming together to put him back in his place?" Balfour shook his head with another laugh. "Sure you didn't just need to go find the Bowman?"

"Let us devoutly hope not," Gandalf grumbled. "As I have not yet managed to lay my hands on a black arrow."

"Ah well then," the actor shrugged, offering a quick wave at another shout. "You best be telling me where I'm headed for – Bifur – oh, excuse me you said it was Byford now – I want to see him, and I need to get a look at those other idiots."

"Idiots?" Gandalf raised an imperious brow.

"And what would you call us?" Balfour chuckled. "Thirteen Dwarves and one Hobbit off on our merry way to fight a dragon? Obviously we were all a few cards short of a full deck." He spread his hands, one still clutching the Dwarf flute. "And now here we go – same guys doing the same thing. Fourteen of us to go pursue a rich and powerful bastard in a day and age that doesn't believe in dragons. I figure most folks would say 'Preposterous!' What do we do? We ask where to sign up! Now, if that doesn't make us loyal idiots of the highest degree – then what does it mean?"

Gandalf leaned against the wall of the building, a soft laughter escaping him. Let the darkness hear them laugh – let it gnash its teeth at their levity and fuss at their refusal to cower.

"Well said, Master Balfour, well said."


	6. To Be Encouraged

_Author's Note: We're so close to having a full set!_

**To Be Encouraged**

Cinnamon, rosemary, nutmeg, mint, and sage – the scents blended and fought for Gandalf's attention as he stepped into the large kitchen. The bright room somehow managed to convey a homey sort of aura, reminding one of an old fashioned kitchens where a family would gather and be pressed into service as a mishmash of ingredients somehow combined to create a feast without any need of recipe or direction. It spoke of a different kind of magic – one where the cook would know by scent or by taste what needed a pinch of salt or dash of pepper. And though it reminded the Wizard of the Shire in some ways, this magic transcended all Races to become one of the shared characteristics of any and all who loved the simple pleasures of hearth and home.

Such as the Dwarf – now Man – whom he sought.

"Good morning."

Gandalf turned to face the owner of the quiet voice. "Good morning," he offered in return. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me, Mister Hunter."

"I confess to curiosity," Brynmor Hunter lifted his hands in a shrug. The chef, for such he seemed to be given his attire, stood a few inches shorter than Gandalf, though he possessed a stouter frame. His red hair seemed to curl in a wild enough fashion, but his face bore no whiskers at all. "It's unusual for someone to make an appointment to meet me unless it's about a cooking show or an interview for a food magazine."

"I do not tend to involve myself with the various forms of media save for necessity," the Wizard admitted. "They seem much too intrusive to me – always needing to know everything about everyone and people sharing the most absurd pictures and details about their day-to-day affairs." He gave a small huff of amused annoyance. "'Tis some odd desire to share everything and nothing all at the same time, Mr. Hunter. Most peculiar."

"Call me Bryn," the stout fellow replied, humor and bewilderment sharing space in his eyes. He shook his head. "And I…am still not sure what you want from me."

"I came to show you these," Gandalf replied as he held out three small cloth bags.

"Interesting," Bryn mused as he felt the bags. "I haven't seen homemade muslin in ages. Everybody uses store-bought bags." The cloth crinkled under his fingertips, almost crunching as he squeezed their contents. "Herbs and spices?"

"Indeed," the Wizard smiled. "A blend many have forgotten – or never tasted."

"Really?" Interest spiked in the chef's gaze and he opened one of the bags. A sharp, fresh scent rose into the air.

Gandalf watched as the man went still, his eyes falling closed as he seemed to breathe a new air, an atmosphere long gone from the world around them. The Wizard recognized it – thanks to the long friendships he developed with the simple folks of the world. It was a scent of the earth and the forest and the hills. The spices themselves could be found in any restaurant and store in the world, but this particular blend… This particular blend had long been popular with those who dwelt in the lands once known as Eriador, including the Shire and Ered Luin.

Hazel green eyes blinked open, a new strength in them – a strength of memory and hard-earned wisdom. "Master Gandalf."

"Master Bombur," the Wizard smiled, inclining his head in a respectful nod. "I am glad to renew an acquaintance with you, my friend."

"My family? Bofur? Bifur?"

"Well," Gandalf assured him. "They are well and waiting, I should think by now at any rate, in Colorado."

Bryn nodded, his face shifting in thought, though he remained quiet. Silence settled over the kitchen for several long minutes, neither Wizard nor Man seeming to be any hurry to break it. Finally Bryn straightened, his shoulders going back as he lifted his chin. "I guess you'd best tell me the who and the where and the wherefore," he chuckled. "If I'm going to be running off to the mountains – again – I best know why before I get there."

"So easily?" Gandalf frowned.

"My brother and my cousin are going," Bryn shrugged. "I'd guess the rest of the Company is as well? There's no reason to seek us out without them, so it must be an all or nothing type gathering."

"I would not force-"

"No," the man interrupted with a smile that reminded Gandalf of Balfour's grin in the Florida rain. "And I would not be forced." He gestured to his own body. "Might not have the stone hardiness of a Dwarf any longer, but if I won't be moved – then no one will move me." He laughed. "But I want to see them and I trust you, trust you enough to know you wouldn't do this without good reason."

"I once said that Hobbits really were amazing creatures," the Wizard told his companion, "but I believe I should start adding to that comment with some further study on the subject of Dwarves. After all these years," he chuckled, "I still find myself humbled and amazed by the way most people accept trouble and danger if it means the chance for something better – for themselves or for others."

"Ah, no," Bryn blushed. "It's only…well, they're family, aren't they?"

"And how is that any less a wondrous thing? That the ties of family should transcend time and space and the very fabric of the world?"

A few days later, Gandalf once again found himself speculating on the nature of people and how they made difficult choices in planning for nebulous futures. He sat in the middle of a university campus and smiled as he watched the ebb and flow of the tide of students between the buildings. It did his heart some good to see these young people seeking to improve themselves in a scholarly fashion. Oh, he knew many of them came and wasted their time in parties, treating the university as some last effort at holding on to childhood while thinking themselves quite adult. Gandalf thought the best description for them might have been a quote from the man C.S. Lewis who once wrote of his character Susan Pevensie, "She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age. Her whole idea is to race on to the silliest time of one's life as quick as she can and then stop there as long as she can."

(The Wizard had to admit to a bit of an admiration for the Race of Men in this at least – they did, from time to time, produce excellent authors and literature. They even managed a handful of good philosophers, though some of them such as that Nietzsche fellow made him shudder.)

Despite this handful, however, Gandalf knew most of the students sought to make themselves better, or to better their chances in the future. He had often availed himself of the libraries of such universities during the time he spent observing the world and the signs of the future. They made for pleasant retreats when the modern world threatened to overwhelm him with its speed and its love for the so-called '15 second sound bite'. The students though – ah, the true students made him nostalgic for old friends such as the young Faramir of Gondor, though these students were mere children in comparison, lacking the stature of the warrior. But it had ever been thus – the warrior versus the scholar for the admiration of society. Few could manage to balance both sides, and Faramir had been one of them. Aragorn too though few realized the depths of his knowledge save in healing. Should Man ever find the happy medium, the balance of warrior and scholar, where Men such as Aragorn and Faramir became the rule instead of the exception…?

Now that would be a _true_ Age of Men, and one he would love to see.

At the moment, however, he had a job to be doing and he best be getting it done. For Gandalf had come to this university in search of the next member of the Company. The link in his mind flared bright as sunlight and he began to keep careful watch. The bench where he sat gave him a good view of one of the major crossroads on campus. From here he hoped to spot whoever called him to this place.

Four of the Company remained to be found…including the three youngest.

One face jumped out at him – a face that even in repose seemed to be hiding a smile. Gold glinted in his short hair as he looked down to the phone in his hand. The Wizard raised an eyebrow at the lack of a beard, though it had more to do with memories over two brothers debating the younger's tendency to keep his short than any real commentary on the stubble worn by the current version of the elder prince. As the young man drew closer, Gandalf rose and took a half-step forward.

Blue eyes snapped upward in recognition of the sudden impediment. Curiosity lit the young man's gaze. "Hey," he nodded, releasing a questioning grin. "Need something?"

"My name is Gabriel McKellen," Gandalf replied, "and I wonder if I might have but a moment of your time?"

"Yeah, okay, sure," the man shrugged.

"And your name, sir?" the Wizard asked as he returned to the bench. He lifted his briefcase from the ground and placed it on his lap. Opening it, he withdrew a box and placed it beside him on the metal seat. Then he returned the briefcase to its previous position and glanced up to his conversation partner with a lifted brow.

"Finnian O'Gorman," the blond answered. He sat down at the other end of the bench. "Is this a survey or something?"

"Not quite, Mr. O'Gorman," Gandalf told him. He lifted the box once more and held it out to the student. "I believe this is yours."

Finnian frowned. "Mine?" He opened the box, shifting his frown from Gandalf to the item within and then back up again. "What is it supposed to be?"

"An axe," Gandalf noted, as he glanced down at the strange weapon.

"Doesn't look like any axe I've ever seen."

"I would presume not," the Wizard chuckled. When Finnian looked up, Gandalf nodded towards the weapon once more. "Its form and balance were calculated for throwing," he explained. "It is a throwing axe – a very old throwing axe…ancient in fact."

"Looks in pretty good shape for 'ancient'," Finnian murmured as he touched the handle.

Blue eyes flared wide as a shock seemed to jolt through the young man's frame. Confusion flickered in his expression before giving way to a strange blend of surprise, joy, and concern. Then even those disappeared before a more haunted expression of desperate hope filled Finnian's gaze. He focused on Gandalf, a repressed longing tinting his voice. "My brother? My uncle? The others?"

"I am still searching for young Kíli," the Wizard replied, lifting one hand and settling it on Finnian's shoulder. "And I give you my word – I will find him. If I have to cross all the face of Arda, I will find him." Now a brighter smile lit Gandalf's face. "Thorin, now, him I have already found. He waits for you at a place in Colorado."

"Thorin? You've found him?" The demand for reassurance could not be clearer.

"Yes, I have found him," Gandalf repeated. "As well as many of the others. You are the eleventh of the fourteen I set out to seek. Prince Kíli and Masters Ori and Dwalin are all who remain for me to find."

"Bilbo…. Balin… The others?" Finnian gave a brilliant smile. "You've already found them?"

"That I did," Gandalf nodded. "They are each making their way to Colorado to rejoin Thorin – who is now known as Thorne by the way."

Joy filled those bright blue eyes only to falter as concern flickered once more. Maturity – the maturity of a hardened warrior and a leader – settled into Finnian's expression and his smile shifted to a more restrained expression. "Why though?" he asked. "Your actions might not always make sense until after the fact, but you always had a reason. Why bring up the past?" Then he shook his head. "For that matter, if you know, why are we here at all? According to our histories…and legends," he acknowledged, "we should still be resting in the halls of our fathers, waiting for the end of days. Nothing like this was ever mentioned – save for a handful of Dwarves of Durin's line being reborn when needed. The others should be at rest – they all earned it, many times over."

And there, Gandalf noted with a touch of pride, there spoke the Crown Prince, later King of Erebor. "I do not have all of the answers," he replied, regret heavy in his voice. "I would have you all resting until the time for the remaking of the world, but events are moving – moving in such a way as they have not for an Age."

Finnian stared at him for a long moment before understanding dawned in his eyes. "Something else is returning, isn't it?" he asked. His mouth hardened as the Wizard nodded. "Something the world as it is now can't handle."

"Yes," Gandalf replied, though the last statement had not been a question. "I fear you have been woken to battle once more, Durin's son."

"Then to battle I go," Finnian replied, his voice firm with conviction. "We did not fight this darkness once before just to sit back and let it win now." The corner of his mouth quirked up into a quick grin. "Even if it is a pain to have to do the same fight twice." He gave himself a good shake and pushed the axe back towards Gandalf. "You best keep this for now," he told him. "I'll get into trouble if I have it on campus." Then he lifted a brow. "So…where am I going?"

Gandalf left the university and turned towards the West. Only three left to find and gather before they could decide on their next move. Hope and fear both stirred inside him, but hope continued to flare all the brighter for each man found. Even he, a Maiar of ancient years, felt humbled by the courage of these men – none of whom chose to walk away. Each of them chose – for all their various reasons – to once more walk in company. They each knew the danger of the darkness, and yet each chose to stand up and be a light in the face of it.

They still gave him courage – after all these years.


	7. Strength of the Youngest

_Author's Note – Two more! One Dwarf left!_

**Strength of the Youngest**

"How long do you think it will be?"

The thread of anxious hope in Finnian's voice drew Gandalf's attention. "Worry not," he soothed. "We shall find him soon. I can feel him near." The Wizard looked around, eyes scanning the crowd in the stadium.

"Are you sure it's him?" Finnian demanded as he watched the people at the concession stand.

"The bonds of the Company have strengthened too much for me to mistaken," Gandalf replied. Ancient blue eyes crinkled in amusement. "The bond between the two of you holds a particular depth, one unmatched by the others." He paused. "Thorin and Dwalin share something similar, but even it cannot equal yours. The friendship between you cemented with the blood bond you once held as brethren…" His voice trailed off and then he shook his head. "No, no, young Finnian. Your brother is here."

Finnian's shoulders slumped in relief. "I'm sorry," he offered. "It's just-."

Gandalf glanced at his companion as the voice cut off. Finnian's eyes focused on the floor of the stadium, narrow and intense in their concentration. The Wizard followed his gaze and felt his own eyes go wide as they came to rest on an unexpected figure. "Elbereth," he breathed out in surprise.

"I don't believe it." The young man blinked and shook his head. His attention never swayed – and Gandalf could understand the fascination.

An older man led some of the students into the center of the arena as they prepared for the competition. Short dark hair framed a square, clean shaven face….a face with fewer lines than the Wizard remembered. "How very surprising."

"Bard," Finnian breathed out. "Bard of Dale. The Bowman is back."

"Curious."

"Are you going to…?"

"No." Gandalf frowned, still looking at the familiar figure. "I have nothing of his – nothing to recall the past. Perhaps…." He fell silent. "Curious."

Finnian suppressed a laugh. "In other words, you don't know."

"Hmph." Gandalf raised one bushy eyebrow.

A loudspeaker crackled, the sound interrupting the Wizard before he could continue. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the finals of the archery competition." Scattered applause sounded in the auditorium and then died away. "First up to the shot…"

Gandalf tuned out the continuing commentary as his eyes wandered the room once more. "Fascinating," he murmured as his gaze swept past the reborn Bard. "To come seeking a member of the Company and to find a king of Men. A minor king perhaps, but still a king."

"But you don't know why?" Finnian lifted his brow.

"The Doom of Men is unknown," Gandalf reminded him, "even to the Valar. The second-born of Eru are His alone to oversee. It may be that the cycle of life-death-rebirth is their path." Then he gave a soft snort. "Or it could be that the Bowman has returned for a reason as yet hidden to me."

The younger man smothered a chuckle. "You still hate admitting when you don't know something."

A retort rose to his lips, but Gandalf has no chance to offer it. The Company bonds gave a sharp tug. His head came up, ancient eyes focusing on the new arrivals at the competition. One figure in particular drew his attention. A tall figure with a familiar grin held a bow with easy confidence. The Wizard did not need the sharp indrawn breath beside him to know he looked on the face of the youngest of the reborn sons of Durin.

"Kíli." Finnian's voice held relief, affection, and gratitude.

"Indeed," Gandalf smiled. "Indeed."

"Ladies and gentlemen – please welcome our returning champion, Killian Turner!"

Cheerful applause and the sighs of admirers filled the air. It became obvious within the first few shots – the competition would be for second place. It took a few hours, but neither the Wizard nor the young man at his side held any doubt as to the ending. Kíli, sister-son of Thorin, had been the greatest Dwarf archer in the history of Erebor. Now he competed against himself, never looking at the scoring done for the others.

At the end of the day – he stood triumphant once more…a returning champion who defended his title with ease.

"Come along," Gandalf murmured as the competition came to an end. "We should catch him."

Finnian nodded without comment.

The two of them made their way to the floor of the arena, ignoring the crowds and working their way against the flow to step up near the last few competitors lingering in the area as they put up their equipment. Gandalf and Finnian made their way to the familiar figure.

"Hey," Finnian stepped forward, his gaze zeroed in on the young archer. "Got a minute?"

Deep brown eyes stared at Finnian, a flicker of something in their depths. The young champion narrowed his eyes in concentration. "Do I...do I know you?" he asked after a long moment. "I would swear I don't know you, but something tells me I should."

"Once," Finnian managed, his words coming out in a strangled voice as though caught between humor and sorrow. He cleared his throat. "You knew me once."

"Kil!"

The call drew all of their attention. The man Gandalf and Finnian remembered as Bard stared at them, suspicion clear in his face. Killian lifted his hand and gave a wave. "It's okay, Coach!" The older man gave a slow nod, still not happy, but he turned after a few seconds and headed towards the nearby gym. Killian laughed. "Coach Evans doesn't like strangers."

"What a surprise," Finnian chuckled.

"So…why do I know you?" Killian redirected the conversation. "I still don't recognize you…either of you," he corrected, turning towards Gandalf.

"Ah," the Wizard smiled. "There I might be able to help." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small black stone carved with line of runes. Extending his hand he offered it to the young archer. "This belongs to you," he explained, "and I am pleased to return it to its rightful owner."

Killian frowned even as he reached out to accept the offered stone. "I don't-." His voice cut off and he stiffened, a shudder running down his frame as his eyes fell closed. The stone vanished as his fist clenched around it. Several moments passed and then his brown eyes blinked open. "Gandalf," he acknowledged before his gaze flew to meet a pair of anxious blue. "Fíli!"

The brothers embraced.

Gandalf felt something inside of him settle. This reunion gave the Company bonds a strength he had not expected. Connections bled into one another, he knew that, but it amazed him how much the depth of any sort of love – romantic, friendship, parent-to-child, or between brothers, such as this – could empower anything and anyone linked to it. Somehow it transcended beyond those involved to give power and light and hope to all of the Free People of Arda. He could even feel his own power increasing with this renewed bond.

The two men separated, but each kept a hand on the other's shoulder as if worried the other might disappear should they let go.

"So your name is Killian, now?" Finnian asked.

"Yeah," his brother nodded. "Killian Turner, but folks call me Kil." He frowned. "What about you?"

"Finnian O'Gorman."

"Finn," Kil announced.

The blond brother frowned at him – an expression belied by the light dancing in his gaze. "Finnian."

"Yeah, yeah," the younger one waved him off. "Finn."

Gandalf broke in before the two of them could turn it into a disagreement, teasing or not. "Tell me, young Kíli, will you be joining the Company once more?"

"Thorin?" Killian demanded, eyes shifting between the other two.

"Your uncle waits for you," Gandalf assured him. His gaze shifted between them. "He waits for you both."

With the brothers reunited and on their way towards yet another reunion, this time with their uncle, Gandalf could focus on the next Companion. He found himself on yet another university campus. This time he strode through the main library, making his way to the archives. The smell of old paper and the feel of the dusty air reminded him of the archives of Minas Tirith and he smiled in remembrance of combing through various shelves and scrolls and books with Finduilas and her youngest son.

If Faramir has been reborn, Gandalf hoped he still held his passion for searching such places.

A cough caused him to redirect his footsteps. He followed the sound and came around the corner of a shelf to find a young student sitting at one of the many quiet tables. Unlike the students on the main floor, this student seemed to be using multiple documents, taking notes and creating something that looked like an index. A pleased smile curved Gandalf's lips.

"Excuse me, young man?"

The student jumped, turning wide startled eyes on the Wizard. "Wh-what?"

Gandalf gave him a calm look. "May I have a moment?"

"Oh, oh, of course." He started trying to straighten some of the paper. "I'm sorry this is such a mess. Let me try and make you a little room."

"Please," Gandalf interrupted, "do not concern yourself. I did not come to disrupt your day." He held a long thin box in his hands. Taking a step forward, the Wizard put it down on the table. "I merely came to return this to its proper owner."

Sensitive fingers began to open the box even as hazel brown eyes stared at Gandalf in confusion. "Why would you have something of mine, Mister….." He paused. "I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name?"

"I am called Gabriel McKellen," Gandalf replied.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McKellen." The young student fell silent as pulled the lid off the box. His gaze shot up to meet the Wizards. "Sorry! I'm sorry, I just… Sorry. I'm Orrin, Orrin Brown."

"Well met, Mr. Brown," Gandalf gave him a solemn nod before his eyes returned to the package.

Orrin turned back to the package as well. "I still don't understand why you would have something of mine, Mr. McKellen. We don't know each other, do we?"

"I believe you will find your answers within the box."

"Okay." The way the student drew out the word only highlighted his confusion. He frowned down as he pulled of the id. "A quill?" Sharp intelligent eyes filled with bemusement as they shifted to stare at Gandalf even as one hand reached out to pull out the quill.

This time the Wizard got to see the precise moment memory surged back. Emotions clashed and fought for dominance. Surprise, fear and joy, hope and regret – all of these flashed and tumbled through those wide eyes. Then Orrin blinked. The nerves disappeared and his expression settled into a hard-earned wisdom. "Greetings and well met, Tharkûn."

"I am pleased to speak with you once more, Master Ori."

"My brothers?" Orrin asked, his manners sliding away before the more pressing concern in his eyes.

"Well," Gandalf assured him. "I have seen both of them with my own eyes, and spoken with them as well. Dori is a teacher in this life while Nori is a lawyer."

A somewhat soggy chuckle escaped from the young man. "That sounds right." He gave a wavering smile. "They haven't changed much then."

"They have," the Wizard demurred, "just…not where it counts." He paused. "Their first question centered on family as well. It is quite a comfort to know that I shall assist in reuniting another family – though I would not have stirred your memories without cause."

"Something's wrong," Orrin noted in a soft voice as he drew the quill through his fingers.

"Why do you say that?"

"As you said," he pointed out in a reasonable tone, "you would not have done this without cause…and it must be important for such an undertaking." Then he shook his head. "And yet…" His voice trailed away and he looked off into the distance. A flicker of unease entered those wide eyes. "Have you ever felt like you sat on the edge of a precipice, watching a storm rolling in, and you had nowhere to go? Nowhere to find shelter?" Despite the questions, he continued speaking without pause. "I have that same feeling now…and it matches one I remember from before." His gaze turned haunted. "In Moria…when I waited at Balin's tomb for the goblins to break through the door." For a moment his lips trembled, but then he firmed them. "Where are they gathering?"

"Colorado."

A small smile settled on Orrin's face. "The mountains."

"Yes," Gandalf nodded. "Thorin gathers the Company – any who choose to heed his request."

"How many…?" An eager anticipation flickered in the hazel-brown eyes.

"You are the last but one." The Wizard tilted his head, eyes half closed as he felt for the bond that linked the fourteen of them. "He is not near here, but the path is clearer than ever. I believe I shall be speaking to him within the next few days." Then he turned to smile at the student who sat waiting with strained patience. "Master Dwalin has been most difficult to pin down."

"He would be happy to hear that."

It took a few more exchanges to get the necessary information shared, but Gandalf soon found himself walking out of the library and into the setting sun. A light joy bubbled within him as he stood in the sunlight. Only one remained – only one to find and awaken. The Company stood all but complete, ready to once again take up the responsibility of standing against evil. The Wizard could feel the hope and the optimism growing in the air around him. The world of Men did not realize how close they stood to trouble, but rock and stone, metal and root….these remembered and their memories were long.

And the bones of the earth stood strong, ready to give a foundation to the Company as they faced the darkness reborn.


	8. An Unforeseen Surprise

_Author's Notes: Last of the Dwarves to be found! The third character in this chapter will be familiar to readers of A Safe Haven, but don't worry – I'll provide a (hopefully) non-boring intro._

**An Unforeseen Surprise**

Gandalf huffed out a breath as he stared at the nondescript two-story house in front of him. The length of time it took him to pin down the last of the Companions had come as an unwelcome surprise. He knew the fault lay within his own expectations. Everyone else feel into place in such a simple, easy way – the difficulty in pinning down their missing member exasperated him. The Wizard shook it off as he began to stride towards the front door. None of the trouble mattered now. He stood steps away from finalizing the first part of his duty. It only needed the reawakening and the choice – though he had little doubt as to how that would go.

Dwalin, son of Fundin, had ever been Thorin's most loyal follower.

The house would not have drawn any particular attention from a casual passerby. The grass might be a bit higher than the neighbors and bushes a bit shaggier, but for the most part it blended into the generic neighborhood. It struck Gandalf a trifle odd as he considered the burly Captain of the Guard who once stood watch over Erebor – a Dwarf marked by the sufferings of his people in both scars and tattoos. So why the obvious effort to fit in – neither too perfect nor too out of line? Curious….very curious. The Wizard continued to muse as he pressed the doorbell.

The door opened.

A tall man stood there, hard blue eyes boring down at him out of a familiar face. "We're not buying."

The gruff voice caused Gandalf's lips to twitch in amusement. "I am not here in an attempt to sell you anything," he replied with assurance. "Rather I have something to return to you."

"Look," came a tired growl as the man rubbed a hand over the bare skin on top of his head. "If this is another attempt to get pictures or an interview, we're not interested. If you're a reporter-."

"I am no reporter," Gandalf informed him. "In addition to disliking any correlation to a scavenger, I would have better things to do with my time than spend it chasing people and haunting them in rare moments of quiet." His shoulders grew straight and he almost peered down his nose. "They pretend their objectivity only to be worse about their…what is the word for it…yellow journalism? Never mind – I do not understand why you would be concerned about a visit from a reporter, but you have no need to be concerned with me." He held out his hand. "Gabriel McKellen."

"Dylan McTavish."

"Mr. McTavish," Gandalf nodded. "I give you my word – I merely with to return a lost belonging."

"Right," Dylan nodded, though his gaze remained wary. He stepped back, tilting his head.

"Thank you." The Wizard stepped inside, his eyes sweeping the room in a quick scan. He followed Dylan into a sitting area and took a seat in the offered chair. Placing his briefcase on the coffee table, he opened it and pulled out a square box. He presented it to his host. "This belongs to you."

The suspicious man took the box, almost dropping it in surprise at the weight. He grumbled as he opened it. "Damn, this thing's heavy." He glanced in. "What the hell is that supposed to be?" The Wizard only smiled and Dylan's eyes narrowed to slits. "I don't like games," he warned, though his hand reached in to pull out the leather and iron. His back went ramrod straight and the box fell away as his fingers clenched around on old, old set of knuckledusters.

Gandalf waited.

Dylan's expression never changed, never opened even as his gaze moved back to his guest. "Thorin? My brother, the others?"

"Thorin, reborn as Thorne, has called for any of the Company willing to answer," Gandalf replied, keeping a careful eye on the closed off expression. It startled him – he had truly expected this one above all of the others to leap to Thorin's side. "Your brother makes his way there now, as do the others."

"Why?" Dylan demanded, voice deep and biting as he tossed the knuckledusters onto a nearby chair. His belligerence startled the Wizard. "Why should we go through this again?"

"Da?"

Gandalf looked up in surprise at the new voice, its light lilting sound familiar and unknown all at the same time. Footsteps, light but steady, seemed to come down the stairs and move towards the door. Dylan closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and took a deep breath. He opened his mouth to speak, but a figure appeared in the doorway before he could get a word out. A petite young woman with dark brown hair stood framed in the light, curious eyes shifting between Dylan and Gandalf.

Her curious _silver_ eyes….eyes the Wizard had not seen since sailing into the West.

Dylan's expression went flat as he shifted until he stood as a barricade between Gandalf and the newcomer. The Wizard's mind held no doubts – should he try and move closer to the woman, he would find himself in a fight. Now, now he understood the fellow's reticence. His hands came up, trying to calm the situation before anything could go wrong.

"Da? What's going on?"

"Not now, Mairwen," Dylan replied over his shoulder, though his attention never wavered from Gandalf. "Stay back."

"How astonishing," Gandalf shook his head. Dylan scowled and the Wizard reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small pouch. "Now I understand why I found this among my possessions."

"No."

Dylan's flat refusal caught Gandalf by surprise. "Will you make the choice on her behalf?" he asked, the subtle hint of a reprimand in his voice. Dylan flushed and remained silent, but neither did he move. The Wizard' lips pursed. "Will you make it for both of them?"

Blue eyes went wide and then narrowed. "Fíli?"

"On his way to rejoin the others," Gandalf nodded. "His brother at his side." He paused. "You were the last I needed to find…or so I thought." His gaze moved to the bewildered young woman still waiting in the doorway. He sighed. "I knew others – those beyond the Company – returned as well but I did not think it time to awaken them."

"What others?"

Gandalf lifted an eyebrow. "We, the younger sons of Durin and I, have seen the Bowman."

Muttered words began to fill the air as Dylan turned away to pace, though Gandalf could not quite understand them. The language seemed to be one he should know, but altered just enough to be unintelligible. Understanding or not, he did know they could not possibly be appropriate for mixed company – not from the way young Mairwen's eyes grew wider with each word.

One phrase caused her to flush and gasp. "Da!"

Dylan flinched. "Sorry, sweetheart." His hand came up to rub his forehead as his gaze met the Wizard's once more. "The Bowman?"

"Yes."

"The Company," the man murmured, his eyes falling closed. "You, the Company, and the Bowman…" He fell silent, taking several deep breaths. "Smaug?"

"Unfortunately," Gandalf commiserated.

"Son of a bitch."

"Da," Mairwen began as she stepped closer. "What the hell is going on?"

"Language, _cariad_."

"You first," she shot back.

Dylan glared at her for a moment before giving in and chuckling. He held out an arm. She moved closer and let him tug her into his side. "Mairwen, _cariad_, this is Gandalf. He's a…_very_ old friend." His eyes turned towards the Wizard, voice taking on a note of warning. "My daughter."

"Greetings, my lady," Gandalf offered, inclining his head in respect.

"Hi," she gave a smile in return, caution still hovering in her manner. Her eyes shifted between the two of them. "Welcome to the house of the uniquely named." A snort and a roll of the eyes was all her father offered in response to her comment. She shrugged. "An old friend?"

"More or less," Dylan agreed.

"Hmph." Gandalf stared at the former Dwarf, managing to look down his nose at the fellow despite the difference in height.

Dylan sighed, his arm tightening around Mairwen for a moment. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then held a hand out towards the Wizard. Gandalf pressed the pouch into his palm and watched as the concerned father somehow managed to open it without releasing his daughter. The ring seemed tiny, pinched between his thumb and forefinger. Its gold band was etched and shaped into the form of a flower and it held a beautiful dark emerald in its heart. He took another deep breath. "This is yours," he told his daughter.

"Mine?" Mairwen frowned as she looked at the small piece of jewelry. "I think I'd remember owning a thing like that, Da."

"Not this one." A few moments passed in silence before Dylan continued. "I told you Gandalf was an old friend…and that's true enough, but it's from…a dark bit of the past."

"From when you were a soldier?"

"Something like that," he agreed, a wry smile touching his face. "He and some others – they need my help, but…if I do this – if _we _do this, everything will change." He rested his chin on top of her head. "It won't be a decision we can take back."

Gandalf watched as the young woman wrapped her arms around Dylan's waist and leaned against him, closing her eyes as she did so. How odd…to find Dwalin of all Dwarves as the father of this young woman. Emotions chased each other across her face and he wondered at the openness she exhibited. It clashed with the reserved Ranger he pictured in his mind's eye. Merilin, cousin of Aragorn, had been one of the few females who chose to take the path of the warrior – and one of the fewer who managed to fulfill all the requirements. In a time when the opponents would likely be stronger than any Man, the women were protected and guarded. All of the Races recognized one vital truth – without females, a Race would be doomed to extinction. Many of the females, the life-bearers, learned to defend themselves, but they remained home and took responsibility for guarding kith and kin. How often the enemy overlooked a simple fact – when in defense of those and that which were dear to her heart, a female proved to be more deadly than any male.

There were – and would always be – those pulled away from home, driven in some way to look beyond their borders. Aragorn permitted the women to try for a position with the Rangers, but he held them to stricter standards. Gandalf inquired about it once and Aragorn's reply still remained in his memory.

"_Like it or not, my friend, a woman will face more in war than any man…and not only from the enemy. She will deal with the disdain and disapproval of those around her as well – or among her allies. Any woman who fights under my banner will pass tests of such rigor that the men will cringe…and respect. The men who ride beside her will hold her in honor and they will talk to those with whom we ride. It is the one protection I can offer. Beyond that – it is up to them."_

Now he watched, waiting to see what the reborn young woman would say.

Mairwen pulled back, glancing at the ring before meeting her father's eyes. "These others – they're important?" she asked.

"Family," Dylan nodded, "once upon a time ago."

"And they need help?" she pressed on.

"Yeah."

"Family's family, Da," she pointed out. "You don't give up on family. Isn't that what you once told me about Mam's family, when I didn't want to deal with one thing or another?"

"I hate it when you toss my words back at me." Dylan gave a rough chuckle before sighing. "I'd have chosen to keep you in the dark, to do my best to keep you safe," he admitted, "and I'd have been wrong. You're grown – and you've the right to your own choices…and they were family to you once as well." He held up the ring. "This was made for you."

"You always keep me safe, Da," she chided him before letting him go to reach for the ring. "No new family or piece of jewelry can change…" Her voice trailed off, silver eyes going wide and blank as her fingers brushed the cool golden metal. She stumbled and Dylan's arm tightened, steading her. Her hand wrapped around the ring, pressing it into her palm as if to shield it from outsiders, but she leaned into her father as she closed her eyes once more.

They waited, silence filling the air.

"Fíli," Mairwen murmured. She drew air in and out, her shoulders moving with each deep breath. "Fíli, Aragorn…so many others."

"I cannot speak for Aragorn," Gandalf replied, his voice softer than it had been for any Dwarf, "but young Fíli makes his way towards Colorado as we speak, to a reunion of the Company."

Her eyes, so unusual for the Race of Men and yet so common to her bloodline, focused on him, sharp and steady as any blade. "Mithrandir," she offered in greeting. "And is the world ending, that you choose now to return to the world of Men?"

"I certainly hope not," he sniffed. "I think a dragon will be more than enough to be going on with."

"A dragon?" Mairwen repeated, jaw dropping. "Smaug?" He nodded, but she turned her gaze up to Dylan. "Da?"

Relief painted its way over the other's face even as he nodded. "Looks like, _cariad_."

She rolled her eyes. "You're still my Da," she informed him with a tart note in her voice, "even if you were once a Dwarf Captain who took an oath of protection to silly lengths." Then she frowned. "And how the hell are we supposed to deal with a dragon?"

"Language," Dylan noted before he raised an eyebrow at the Wizard.

"He's human," Gandalf explained.

"Well if that doesn't make it worse," Dylan muttered. "Least with a dragon, once people got over their gaping and gawping, they'd write it off as a hallucination or cruelty with animals or some other such idiocy. The idea of a sentient beast would fly right over their heads." He huffed out a breath. "No, we have to get a human dragon – which bumps it up to murder."

"You always did like a challenge," Mairwen pointed out with a lilting laugh. "Sounds like there's to be some fun planning going on in Colorado."

As Dylan turned an exasperated look on his daughter, Gandalf released a small, unnoticed sigh of relief. That was it – his first task had been finished. With the awakening of Dwalin, the Company stood completed, though separate for now. Merilin, reborn and reawakened as well, gave his heart an extra lift of hope. If she walked the earth once more… It grew more and more certain that his old friends, perhaps even the Fellowship itself, graced the world with their presence. He pulled his mind away from that trail of thought, forcing himself to focus on the Company.

They would come together and they would face Smaug.

Let the dragon beware.


	9. The Reunion - Part 1

_Author's Note: Two more chapters after this for this story! I hope everyone has enjoyed the ride! Oh! And there is a POV switch…_

**The Reunion – Part 1**

People in the business knew Thorne Armitage as a hard-nosed, compassionate, tight-fisted do-gooder.

And yes, he knew that sounded like a complete contradiction of terms. He did his best to help people, the responsibility of his family's name and business resting on his broad shoulders, but he refused to be a carpet, enabling those who wanted to cheat the system. Should a disaster of any sort affect his workers, they rested safe in the knowledge that representatives of the Armitage family would be seeking them out. The Aiken Mining Company and Durward Jewelers both kept current, in-depth records on their employees, both for times of trouble and to recognize moments of joy – such as marriages, new children, etc. It meant creating and staffing a large administrative department, but Thorne's father, Thayne Armitage once told him – "If you want your workers to behave like a family, then you must treat them as family." His grandfather, Thurston, said something similar – "Be the warm patriarch, the one who gives a damn about their families and homes, and they'll fight to protect yours."

That advice had never failed him in business. His workers called him tough, but fair – a good man. His rivals called him a mean son-of-a-bitch. Thorne thought both were accurate enough.

Now though, with the memories of Thorin settling in his mind he realized how much he kept everyone at arm's length, not letting anyone see the man behind the mask. With the reforming of the Company, he would be surrounded by those who knew him better than anyone – those who would not allow him to stay at a distance. The thought electrified him…even as it terrified him.

But would anyone come? Therein lay his chief worry. Why would anyone choose to deal with a dragon a second time…or third in a few cases? Even if Smaug now took human form…and how they were going to deal with that! Thorne allowed his thoughts to be distracted for a moment as he tried to consider what they could do with a human dragon. Then he gave a soft snort. Why was he even trying to plan? He could not plan without knowing the size of group he would be leading. Besides, when it came to plans….well, he could almost hear Dwalin growling already.

"_Of course he has a plan. He __**always**__ has a plan. The question is – is it any good?" _

That sent his mind circling right back to its original topic – who, if any, of the Company would return.

Would he? If one of the others called, would he reply? Everyone had long since earned their rest. All of them should still be lingering in the halls of the Fathers – or wherever Hobbits spent their afterlife – until the remaking of the world. Then he pictured their faces, each of them holding a particular place in his memory and his life. Even now he found it difficult to believe he lived a long, seemingly full life without knowing them. Thorne Armitage…Thorin similar and yet so exceedingly different. His life, looking back, now appeared shallow, without true meaning in comparison to his previous one. He lived each day to its fullest, working, meeting friends and ding what he could to do right by the people who worked for him, but…

Once his decisions could change the course of the world. His friendships rooted deeper than the depths of any mountain. In days past, his people formed a formidable part of the fight in the long battle of good versus evil. It meant great power…and great responsibility. The weight of his people's well-being, their very future had weighed on his shoulders. If one of the others had called, would he have responded?

Yes.

The simple answer rang in Thorne's mind, stark and unfettered by any flowery language. Without a doubt in his mind, had any of the others called for aid, he would have responded. Those fourteen males, whatever form or name they bore now, were his family. Family… For a moment his mind wandered. He could picture others in his mind's eye, others he considered kin. Had any of them been reborn or only his Company?

Dís, his sister and his conscience in many ways – she would be missed in the councils he knew waited in his future. Her mind and method always worked in icy mithril and cutting diamonds – protective, but unwilling to put up with foolishness.

Merilin, Fíli's chosen, on the other hand, resembled warm gold and glowing emeralds – and the Durins made sure to drape her in both to her laughing consternation. Her compassion often cooled many a hothead while her quiet acceptance led many to share their secrets with her – secrets she kept to the tomb. Had their situation allowed it, he would have named her daughter and been proud to do so.

Kíli's chosen, Tauriel…had she sailed into the West after the last of them were gone? She promised to watch over their heirs until her heart could no longer take the sorrow. The entire family ordered her not to even think of such. Had she listened? He could only wonder at this other near-daughter of his – her cool silver and opaque moonstone jewelry gave more clues to her personality than most understood.

He shook himself free of such thoughts lest they drag him into melancholy. The Company would be enough to worry about for now.

The doorbell rang.

Thorne froze, his eyes focusing on the heavy wooden door standing between him and whatever guest waited on his front porch. Could it be? Already? He forced his muscles to move, to walk towards the door, chiding himself for being foolish. It could be anybody – a lost tourist, a local rancher, even one of the state troopers asking about any recent signs of trouble. He had no reason beyond a mad hope to think any of his Company waited on the other side of the door. His hand touched the knob and he stopped, taking a deep breath before pulling it open.

Two men stood there, both staring with half-startled expressions – as if they had been warned, but were not quite prepared to believe the warning they had been given. Thorne's own breath rushed out in a shocked flash of joy. He felt his eyes burn and blinked back the threatening tears at the sight of two faces he lost to the horrors of Moria. "Balin," he managed, his voice refusing to rise above a whisper. "Óin."

"Thorin." Balin could not seem to manage any other word. He shook his head and stepped forward, throwing his arms around Thorne and dragging him into a massive bear hug. "Thorin."

Thorne returned the embrace, relief shooting through him. To have one of his oldest, first friends back at his side…he did not have the words to describe the feelings welling up in his heart. After a moment he pulled back, his hands on the other man's shoulders and felt the grin stealing over his face. "It's…I…" His voice failed and he shook his head. Then he managed a chuckle. "It's good to see you, old friend."

"And you as well lad, though it's Blayne now," came the reply. Blayne's grin all but lit the room.

"I'm chopped liver, I suppose."

Both men turned to the third who stood by with a teasing glint in his eye. Thorne laughed and drew the other into a quick embrace. "Good to see you as well, healer."

"Olin will do," the doctor informed him. "Or Doc if the name slips you."

"Come in," Thorne waved them both into the house. He led them towards a back room – his media room. Shelves containing books lined two of the walls while a large kitchenette/bar took up the end by the door. The opposite end held a large flat screen television while the shelf below it was covered in electronics of one kind or another. Comfortable chairs and floor cushions filled the center area. "Make yourselves at home." He paused before venturing the question burning in his mind. "Do you…do you know if Gandalf found any of the others?" The last of his words came out in a rush.

Balin…no, _Blayne_ shook his head. "We were the first," he replied, "after you. The Wizard had leads on the others, but that's all we know."

"Then we will wait," Thorne nodded. "And hope."

No sooner had the word left his mouth than a loud knock echoed throughout the house. Thorne waved the others towards the kitchenette. "Help yourselves." Then he strode towards the front door. Another knock, louder than the first, came before he could open it. "Patience not a virtue?" he half-demanded as he yanked the door open.

"_Nê_." A sharp grin glittered from a wild mass of hair. "_Shamukh, sakhkhmi, astû glikh_."

The sound of the ancient tongue startled a laugh out of Thorne. "Bifur!" he shook his head. "Good to see you again as well, my friend."

"Thorin," Byford greeted. "Couldn't resist."

"I don't blame you," Thorne drew him inside, leading him towards the back. "It was good…to hear the language again."

Blayne and Olin came forward with large smiles to meet the newcomer. "It's Byford now," he explained, after gathering their names. "Some folks call me By or Byf. Answer to all three." His eyes scanned the room before he gave a small huff of laughter as he turned to Thorne. "Show off."

"There is nothing wrong with appreciating the finer things in life," Thorne told him in a lofty tone before he broke down into a grin. "I spend most of my time in here – when I'm inside anyway."

The doorbell rang just as all four men began to laugh.

"Suddenly this is feeling terribly familiar," Blayne noted with an amused snort. "Wonder if we're going to have a pack of men fall into a tumbled mass on the doorstep this time."

"I can tell you this," Olin stated as Thorne headed out of the room. "If someone gets hurt because they've forgotten the first time around, I'm going to sit back and let them fix themselves."

Thorne shook his head, affection welling up in him. They were coming together once more – the Company…his Company. They answered his call – despite the danger, despite the time and the distance and the changes, they chose to join him. He could only wait and see if all of them made that choice, but newfound hope kindled in his heart.

If the Company stood by him, he could do anything…even take on a dragon.

He stopped at the door and took a breath as he wondered who he would see this time. His nephews' faces flashed before his mind's eye, but he shook the image off. He would rejoice when they appeared, but in the meantime he would greet each arrival with renewed optimism. He opened the door.

"Well, now, if that's not a sight for sore eyes!" A bright grin and a cheeky glint greeted Thorne. "Now be a good chap and tell a man you've got a brew going spare? It's a long ride from the sunshine of Miami."

Thorne could no more prevent the chuckles from escaping than he could stop the sun in the sky. "Welcome back, Bofur," he smiled. "There's some brew waiting – more than one kind."

"Call me Balfour, or Bal if you've a mind," he replied as he stepped into the house. He paused and then gave Thorne a quick, hard embrace. "Damn if it isn't good to see you!"

"You as well, my friend," Thorne assured him as he shut the door. "You as well." A quick, sharp knock surprised them both. He glanced at the door and then back at Balfour. "Your cousin is here – that way." He pointed down the correct hallway and fought a smile as the man bounded off with renewed energy. Thorne turned and opened the door. He blinked in surprise at the face awaiting him on the other side. "Well, I'll be damned."

"Let us sincerely hope not," Nye Brophy retorted. "There is, after all, a dragon to be dealt with and you seem to be the only one insane enough to lead the asylum escapees in dealing with him."

"Nori," Thorne acknowledged, fond exasperation clear in his voice and expression.

"That would be Nye," the lawyer corrected. "The others?"

"Your brothers are not here yet," Thorne replied, answering the question which shone brightest in the hazel-brown eyes before him. "Some of the others are here. They are in the media room." The other man lingered in the doorway for a long moment, but Thorne waited him out. No matter what name he went by, Nori would never respond well to being forced or cornered.

The rumble of a vehicle distracted them before the lawyer could make up his mind and the two men turned. A yellow full size SUV pulled into the open area before the house, joining the other vehicles already waiting – Thorne's own red heavy duty, full size pickup, a navy mid-size luxury car, a brown compact SUV, a green Grand Tourer, and a silver convertible. The SUV door opened and a broad-shouldered figure with silver hair stepped out.

"What the hell is he doing driving that eyesore?" Nye sighed and then moved down the steps to greet his brother.

The elder said nothing, just stared for a long moment before dragging Nye into a fierce embrace. A sheen of tears glistened in his eyes and Thorne watched the reunion with a sense of awestruck glee. Dori's arrival meant half of the Company had responded to Thorne's call.

Half so far…

"We wondered what was taking so long." Blayne stepped up beside him, a gentle smile resting on his lips as he watched the brothers' reunion.

"They are returning," Thorne replied. "One by one…they return."

"As if I'd let you reckless lot go running off after a dragon without me," Olin sniffed. "Get your fool selves killed with the first infection."

"Aye," Balfour agreed, hopping up to sit on the porch rail. "Not to mention the sheer lack of self-preservation. It's all seemed to carry over, new life or no. Told the Wizard we were the biggest bunch of idiots – loyal to the highest degree, but still a few cards short of a full deck." Thorne raised an eyebrow, but the cheery fellow just grinned. "Fourteen of us after a full sized dragon…and now here we are, gathering again to go after some rich bastard with a dragon's attitude. What would you call us?"

Byford gave a huff and pushed his cousin off the railing to which Balfour shot back a colorful curse. The two brothers looked over, a smile crossing each face as they looked over the group. Thorne stepped down towards them, his attention turning to the elder. "Welcome back," he greeted, offering his hand.

"I'm glad to be back," Doran replied, shaking Thorne's hand before pulling him into a quick hug. "So very glad."


	10. The Reunion - Part 2

_Author's Note: Second to the last chapter! Don't worry – there is a sequel in the works. I just have to finish ironing out how to deal with a human Smaug!_

**The Reunion – Part 2**

Seven men gathered in the media room, sharing drinks and stories and laughter. Thorne could not speak for the others, but in many ways he felt home – home as he could not recall it in this lifetime. These men filled part of a hole that seemed to be a permanent part of his soul. A hole he did not remember noticing before, as if it took their presence to make him acknowledge it. Part of it remained, waiting for those who would fill it…and Thorne hoped they would come, that they too would seek to renew the bonds that once existed.

Then the doorbell rang and everyone fell silent, hopeful and wondering eyes turning towards the entrance.

Thorne moved towards the door, hearing a discussion break out behind him. He shook his head and repressed a laugh as he heard Balfour making wagers on who would be at the door this time. No matter how much had changed, so much still remained the same. The smile lingered on his face as he opened the door, though his jaw dropped a bit in surprise to find the familiar face of their Hobbit staring back at him.

A quick grin graced that face. "May I say how glad I am the get-together is happening in your house instead of mine this time?"

Booming laughter erupted from yet another newcomer. "Billy Freeman!" the red-headed man shook a finger at the former Hobbit. "You're not allowed anywhere near my boy until he gets past his rebellious stage. I don't need him picking up any more sarcasm, thank you." Then he turned towards Thorne. "Damn, cousin, it's good to see you!"

Thorne managed to find his tongue. "Billy?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That's the name now," came the agreement. "And Glóin is now Glynn."

The former king chuckled. "We need nametags." He opened his mouth to say something, but shook his head and stepped forward, pulling first Glynn and then Billy into a firm embrace. "I'm glad you're here."

Both men returned the hug with strong, fierce affection.

"As if I'd let you lot go off after a dragon without me," Glynn scoffed. "Never know what kind of reward we might find."

"Don't let him fool you," Billy cautioned. "He's anxious to see his brother and everyone else – not one word of reward passed his lips all the way from New York." Glynn shrugged, unapologetic in his manner. The shorter man rolled his eyes. "And someone has to come along to keep an eye on all of you. Who knows what kind of trouble you'll get into if I'm not there to get you out?"

Glynn began to grumble, but Thorne laughed. "So, our burglar still lives in there, hmm?"

"Will you all quit calling me that?" Billy demanded, though his lips twitched as he tried to glare. "People are going to hear you and start thinking I'm a burglar. I'm not a burglar! I was never a burglar!"

"Burgled the Elf-king rightly enough, didn't you though, lad?"

Thorne glanced over as Balfour came up beside him and raised a brow. The irrepressible man shrugged. "Curiosity's still a bit of a vice of mine."

"Bofur!"

The twin exclamations drew out the cheeky grin. "Hello, boys! Welcome to the party." Balfour exchanged hugs and names with the two newcomers before gesturing over his shoulder with a thumb. "We've got food, brew, and some comfy chairs back there. Place is so comfortable you'd think it was a Hobbit-hole." Thorne gave him a half-hearted shove which did nothing to douse his spirits. Twinkling hazel-green eyes shifted to Glynn. "Your brother's back there with some of the others. Man's a healer in this life too, so he's giving us some frowns over the junk food, but it's good to see him anyway."

"Óin?" Glynn all but vibrated in place.

"It's Olin, now," Thorne told him, but stepped back out of his way. "Down that hall."

The red-head took off without another word. It took a couple of moments, but then came an uproar proving he had found the right room. The three men at the door laughed, and Thorne began to wave them inside when he spotted another vehicle coming up the road. His eyes narrowed, trying to see through the windshield, but the glare from the sun prevented any recognition. A brown, full-size executive car pulled up next to a silver compact SUV. The shadow of the driver paused, seeming to stare at the porch – or the three men waiting there. Billy moved down a step into the full light of the sun and the car door opened.

Sunlight caught on red hair as the husky figure stepped out. A loud, cheerful, and wordless exclamation erupted from Balfour and the fellow bounded down the steps, not noticing when he jostled Billy as he sped past. Thorne put a steadying hand on the smaller man's shoulder even as he chuckled. "Looks like he's happy to see his brother again."

"I'm glad to see Bombur myself," Billy acknowledged. "We always had the best conversations."

"On food?"

"At least it was something important."

Thorne shook his head and let the subject drop. "That's ten of us now."

"Ten?" Billy turned to look at him, his eyebrows going up. "You, me, Glóin, Bofur, Bombur, Óin…that's six. Who are the others?" Then his eyes moved to a spot behind Thorne, going wide as they did so. A smile broke out over his face. "Dori!"

"Doran," the man gave a gentle correction as he stepped onto the porch. He glanced back. "And Nye." The two men, once brothers in blood, still brothers in heart, smiled at Billy.

Billy moved forward to offer both a hug, ignoring Nye's automatic withdrawal. "Don't even think about it," he told the lawyer. "I'm in too good of a mood to let you put me off today. You'll just have to live with being hugged."

"Fine," Nye signed, looking put out – thought a shimmer of gratitude in his smile ruined the effect.

"Look who's here!" Balfour announced as he led the newcomer up to the steps. "Goes by Brynmor now he says."

"Bryn," came the soft voiced correction. "Most folks call me Bryn."

"Bryn," Balfour shrugged. "Bryn, Brynmor, Bombur…whatever you'd like."

"Good to know some things have not changed," Bryn noted, giving the others a smile.

"I get the feeling some things will never change," Thorne replied, stepping forward. "Welcome back."

"I'm glad to be back." Bryn glanced around, nodding as the men shared their new names. "The others?"

"We're only missing the young ones and Dwalin," Doran told him, exchanging an anxious look with both Nye and Thorne. "The rest are inside."

"They'll be here," Billy assured them. "I don't care what names they go by now, you'd never keep Fíli, Kíli, or Ori away from family."

"I hope you're right," Thorne answered, as he waved them all inside. The haunted looks that flickered over Blayne and Olin's faces when Moria was mentioned worried him, especially as neither of them knew Ori's fate. What had their youngest faced alone in that dark place? Objectively, Thorne knew Ori had not been alone – he'd had the rest of the colony around him, but… No brothers, no member of the Company at his side – he'd been all but alone.

And that haunted Thorne in its own way – even though he knew, in this life or the past one, he could not have changed their fates.

Another hour or so passed and the sun began dipping deep into the west, sending the shadows into longer stretches. Thorne knew there was no reason to expect all of them to arrive on the same day, but with so many already here, he had begun to hope. The rest of his Company spilled throughout the house, some exploring while others argued in the kitchen over what to make for dinner. Thorne avoided the kitchen, happy to let someone else handle it, but from the few glances he'd gotten as he passed the door Bryn seemed to be ignoring the others altogether. He moved through the room with an unexpected grace and all but tossed a meal together under the noses of the arguing men.

Billy waved at Thorne from the other end of the bar separating the kitchen from the dining room apparently watching the show as he picked at some cut up fruit and vegetables from a platter on the countertop. Thorne considered joining him, but the doorbell drew him away.

He opened the door to find himself facing a young man – one who seemed to be just out of his teens if that. The age struck Thorne, but not as much as the familiar face with its reddish-brown hair and hazel-brown eyes. More to the point – the physical age meant nothing in comparison to the experienced soul staring out of those young-old eyes. "Ori."

"Thorin." The young man breathed a sigh of relief. "You're here," he noted. "You're really here." He paused and then moved forward to give Thorne a brief hug.

Thorne could feel the tremor in the arms and wrapped his own around the younger man's shoulders. "I'm here," he murmured in reassurance. He considered for a moment, thinking on everything he knew or had learned over the day about the fates of his Company. "I'm here," he repeated. "You're not alone anymore."

A choked off sob answered him and he waited, not lessening the hold until he felt the other pull back. "It's...ah…its Orrin now," the younger one noted, brushing a hand over his eyes. "My name, that is."

Thorne gave him a supportive smile. "Orrin, it is then," he nodded. A sharp intake of breath behind him caused the smile to deepen. "And I hope you're ready to be poked and prodded and all around smothered."

"Nori? Dori?" Orrin's eyes grew bright, an eager joy filling them.

Thorne glanced over his shoulder and spotted both men moving towards them. He stepped to the side, giving Orrin a light push. "I think your brothers want a moment."

As the younger man stumbled towards his brothers, Thorne walked outside and closed the door to give them some privacy. He leaned against the railing and stared at the vehicles cluttering up the space in front of his house. The pounding of his heart threatened to overwhelm him with emotions. One by one they kept coming. It was everything he'd hoped for and so much more than he'd feared.

Only three left.

Three more faces to fill up the Company.

Thorne closed his eyes, bowing his head as he wondered about the remaining three. Would they make it before night settled over the mountains? Would it be a repeat of that night so long ago in the Shire when thirteen Dwarves and one Hobbit met and gathered and shared a home for the first time? It hadn't been the last time, of course, but something about that first night stuck with him. That night marked the first time this Company – a Company that would become legend even while they yet lived – gathered to face a seemingly insurmountable problem. Now…now they were coming together to do it again.

He wanted a repeat.

Against all odds, this ragtag bunch of hooligans and oddballs had managed to succeed in their task. Yes, he could admit they'd needed the Bowman to do it, but still...they pulled it off. Thorin ruled Erebor as King under the Mountain for many years before leaving it in Fíli's capable hands when he fell defending his family in the Battle of Dale. He remembered passing into death – calm and at peace. The kingdom would proper under Fíli and the peace treaties with Dale and Mirkwood would stand strong. Thorin left behind a legacy of which he could be proud.

And his pride remained strong – it grew with each return. To know the Company meant so much to each man…it humbled him.

The sound of an engine drew his gaze up the long driveway. He watched as a Jeep bounced along, going a bit too fast as it spun into park next to a small white subcompact. Two figures got out of the vehicle, too busy arguing to look towards the shadowed porch. Thorne's breath caught as the sun's rays filtered through the trees to glint on gold locks or to disappear on brown. He moved towards the steps, his movements hesitant – fearful unless this be a dream that would fade if startled.

"I'm driving back," the blond young man insisted as he pointed at the dark-haired teenager. "You're a menace."

"What?" the younger one demanded. "What did I do?"

"Fíli…Kíli…" Thorne found his voice before the blond could offer a reply.

Two gazes swung around, centered on Thorne, and locked. One breath passed and then another. And then…

"Thorin!"

The two rushed leapt forward and he caught them, all but squeezing the air out of them as he held on with all his strength. He could only repeat their names as he lost the battle with his tears this time. A sheen of them coated his eyes and some trickled down his cheeks as he held his nephews to him for the first time in an Age. "Fíli…Kíli…"

"It's Finnian actually," the blond managed, his own smile misty as they pulled back, reluctance clear in their hesitation.

"Or Finn as I'm calling him," chimed in the younger. "And mine's Killian," he continued, "but most folks call me Kil."

"I don't care," Thorne replied, one hand on a shoulder of each nephew. "Whatever you want to be called is fine…you're here."

Another long, heartfelt embrace later and he finally felt capable of leading them back to a boisterous crowd and their enthusiastic welcome.

Somewhat later, as twilight began to gather outside, Thorne left the bathroom, intent on making his way back towards the others when a knock on the front door brought a quick smile to his face and he hurried to answer it Only one of his Company remained missing – only one left to welcome. The person on the porch could only be…

"Dwalin."

The name hung between the two of them for a second before the bald man on the steps gave a short bow. "Dylan McTavish, at your service."

Thorne yanked the other man into a fierce hug. "You're here," he grinned, stepping back and putting his hand on Dylan's shoulder. "You came."

"I almost didn't," Dylan admitted, keeping his voice low and his eyes averted. "I tried to tell the Wizard no."

"Why?" Thorne shook his head, tightening his hand on his old friend's shoulder. He sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that to sound so…accusatory. I would not have blamed anyone for refusing. No one should have to face a dragon once, let alone twice."

"It wasn't the dragon." Dylan interrupted him, blue eyes flashing. "If it were just me, I'd have been out the door before Gandalf finished talking." He paused, taking a deep breath. "But it wasn't just me. I had my daughter to consider."

"A daughter?" Thorne blinked, startled bewilderment breaking over him. He had never considered that a potential issue. If he thought for a moment, he realized that any consideration of spouses or families had never crossed his mind. Glynn's family comments seemed to fit his past, but for the rest…it never occurred to him. "You have a daughter?"

"Yes, I have a daughter," Dylan huffed. "Is that such a shock?"

"It just…" Thorne shook his head. "I didn't think of it." He paused and tilted his head. "What changed your mind?"

"She did," the old soldier admitted. "Stubborn girl's got her own mind, but…she's grown. I didn't have the right to make her choices for her – not anymore." He paused and a flicker of a smile lightened his face. "Especially not given some of the particulars."

"Particulars?"

"Leave the man alone, Da," came a sigh from behind the man.

Dylan's eyes grew bright with amused affection and he stood back. Thorne could now see inside the black full-size pickup drawn up almost to the bottom step, including the figure sitting sideways in the front seat, her legs dangling out of the door. Dark brown hair framed a delicate face highlighted by bright silver eyes. She lifted a hand and waved at him, her soft smile growing as he stared.

"Merilin!" Thorne's voice echoed into the darkening twilight as he strode forward. He plucked her out of the truck, his arms like bands of steel as they surrounded her. Her giggle as she returned the embrace caused his own laughter to bubble up. After several long moments he pulled back and reached out to frame her face between his hands. "This is a happy surprise," he announced before leaning in to plant a kiss on her forehead. "A very, _very _happy surprise."

"It's Mairwen now," she told him as he released her. "And don't let Da worry you – he wants to be here as much as any of the rest." She bit her lip. "And…speaking of the rest…?"

Teasing affection glittered in the grin Thorne tossed to Dylan. "You two are the last," he announced. "Everyone else is waiting inside." The teasing gentled as he met Mairwen's gaze. "He's here," Thorne told her. "He arrived just before you."

A soft red color dusted her cheeks and she stared at the house. "Did he now?" she murmured before glancing back at her father.

"Oh, fine," Dylan sighed. "Let's go find the lad."

"Da!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he snorted. "You're looking forward to seeing all of them." He shook his head. "Just a little more anxious about him than the rest though, aren't you?"

"I'm not talking to you," she announced, turning with a huff and striding up the steps towards the door.

Thorne raised an eyebrow and Dylan shrugged. "She'll break that word before the hour's out," he assured his friend as they watched her disappear into the house. "She's never managed to ignore me for longer than that before, so I don't expect it to start now."

"Damn it's good to see you," Thorne laughed, clasping one hand on Dylan's shoulder. "I'd have been lost without you."

"With your sense of direction?" Dylan chuckled. "You're damn right you would have been."

The two men stepped into the house, teasing and jostling each other as they moved into the warmth and light of home, closing the door and shutting out the night with all its shadows and secrets and dangers.


	11. United Again

_Author's Note: This chapter finishes off the first part of our story. I am working on a sequel, but some details are being difficult. I intend to persevere! Thank you to all who have joined me on this journey._

**United Again**

Thorne shook his head, elbowing Dylan in the ribs. "My sense of direction isn't _that_ bad."

"Should I mention Hobbiton?" his friend demanded.

"I'd rather you didn't," Thorne scowled.

"Hi!"

Mairwen's voice drew their attention further into the house. Dylan's daughter stood in front of them, her eyes centered on someone in the hallway. A frown creased Thorne's forehead and he moved forward to find out what was wrong. He raised an eyebrow as he spotted Blayne standing there, suspicion clear in his gaze as he watched the young woman. It took a moment, but then a small light went off in Thorne's mind. "Ah, right," he grimaced. "My apologies, Mairwen – I forgot there would be a few here who did not get the opportunity to meet you…before." He made a vague gesture to imply their past lives. His other hand came up to rest on her shoulder. "And this is one you _should_ meet, especially given the new situation," he remarked, tossing a glance over his shoulder at Dylan.

"Yes?" Both of Blayne's eyebrows went up. "What new 'situation'?" 

"Mairwen, meet Blayne Stott," Thorne continued. "When we met you in the past, he had already gone to Moria." His grip tightened and she reached up to rest her fingertips on the back of his hand. That small motion relaxed him and he gave her a smile. "He was my friend and counselor – Balin, son of Fundin."

Her mouth dropped open in surprise for a mere moment before curving into a bright, brilliant smile. "Lovely it is to meet you, too," she nodded. Then mischief began to twinkle in her eyes as she leaned over to look around behind Thorne. "Does this mean I get to call him 'Uncle' then?"

Blayne frowned in confusion, but his expression transformed into happiness as Dylan stepped up to join them. A quiet joy burned in the taller man's eyes even as he poked a finger into Mairwen's side. "That's enough smartass out of you."

"Be serious, Da," she rolled her eyes. "If I quit giving you sass, you'll be calling for a doctor."

"True enough, _cariad_." Dylan stepped around her towards Blayne. "Brother."

The older man shook his head, a chuckle escaping from him as a light sheen glistened in his eyes. He did not speak a word; instead he drew closer to Dylan and pulled him into a hug. The brothers remained locked in the embrace for several silent minutes as Mairwen leaned back into Thorne's support.

"No matter what," she murmured, "I will be grateful for this. I don't care what kind of dragon we've got to deal with." Thorne made an inquisitive noise and she tilted her head so she could glance back at him. "Da's only had me," she replied, keeping her voice low in respect to the reunion going on before them. "Mam died when I was little – I don't even remember her really. He gave up being a fighting soldier to come home and run a desk so he could take care of me."

"And I'd do it again." Dylan pulled away from his newfound brother to give his daughter a smile. He held out a hand. She took it and let him draw her to his side as he looked back to Blayne. "This is my daughter, Mairwen," he told him, introducing her a second time.

"So," she drew the word out, her lips curling up in an amused smile, "about that 'uncle' thing?"

"Aye, lass," Blayne laughed as he drew her into a hug of her own. "You might as well." Then he shook his head. "Never been an uncle before."

"You were near enough to Fíli and Kíli," Thorne disagreed.

Kil strolled into the room at that moment. "Who was near enough to what?" he asked, glancing around the room. He spotted Dylan first and a grin began to spread across his face. Then he saw Mairwen. His steps faltered, stuttering to a stop as his eyes grew wide. The grin, which had fallen into shock, came back in full bloom and he turned towards the back room. "Finn!" He paused. "Hey, Finn!"

"What?" Finn's voice drifted down the hallway.

"You better come out here!"

"Why?"

Kil rolled his eyes. "Just do it!"

Mairwen stilled, her fingers trembling as she waited. The others stood close by – Dylan and Thorne in support while Blayne watched with curiosity. She never noticed. Her eyes fixed on the hallway…watching…waiting…

"What?" Finn stalked into the room. "Kil, what's going…?" He came to an abrupt halt, like a man walking into an invisible wall. His gaze locked with Mairwen's – locked and fixed as if no one else existed. No sound came from him, though his mouth opened once or twice. Then he gave himself a good shake. It took a moment, but he managed a whisper. "Merilin?" One of his hands lifted towards her, but stopped as if he feared she would disappear at a touch.

A tremulous smile graced her lips as she almost floated towards him, her own hand reaching out to take his, sliding it so his fingers tangled with hers. "Hey," she managed, voice shaking.

"Hey," he replied, his hand tightening on hers.

She took one more step, letting her eyes fall closed as she leaned her forehead against his chest. Observers might have expected Finn to wrap his arms around her or something, but he merely leaned down enough to rest his check against her hair. The two of them stood there in silence, seeming to ignore anyone and everyone else in the room…or even in the world.

Thorne, throat tight with unexpected emotion at the sheer tenderness on display, tapped Dylan on the shoulder and gestured down the hall. The other nodded, taking one last look at his daughter before heading away. Kil followed him, as did Blayne. Thorne watched the reunited couple for a moment before he did the same. He made sure to close the door behind him to try and muffle the noise erupting from the Company as Dylan strode into their midst.

Kil waited for him, ignoring the uproar in the center of the room. "Merilin?" he asked.

"Mairwen," Thorne corrected, a smile flashing over his face. "Dylan's daughter."

Laughter bubbled out of the teenager. "How perfect is that?" he muttered. "Well, Dwalin did give Fíli an oath to protect her, but I think this might have been going above and beyond." A hint of something – sorrow perhaps, or melancholy – flickered in his gaze. "I'm glad she's here."

Thorne reached out and grasped his shoulder. "Don't," he said in a quiet voice. "Don't let it tear at you while the truth remains unknown."

"There are no Elves, Uncle," Kil replied, his voice soft and solemn. "Regardless of what happened after we returned to stone – Tauriel…" His voice trailed away and he shook his head.

"A month ago I would have thought you insane to mention Dwarves," Thorne pointed out. "Wizards did not walk the earth and dragons were the villains or heroes of children's tales." His nose wrinkled. "Idiot authors who've never met a dragon," he muttered, "turning them into heroes." The scoffing note of his voice could not have been clearer and Kil's mouth quirked into a grin. The older man tightened his grip, letting the younger feel his support. "Hold faith," Thorne advised. "The link between the two of you ran as deep as any I've ever seen. We don't know what the future holds."

"So don't borrow tomorrow's trouble?"

Thorne laughed. "Your mother could be wise when she wanted to be," he agreed, a spark of nostalgia lightening his heart at the thought of his sister. Dís would have been furious about Smaug's return, but she would hate to know she missed this.

Finn led Mairwen into the room a few minutes later where a second explosion of sound greeted her appearance. Those who had known Merilin seemed happy to renew their acquaintance with her, Billy and Nye in particular. Blayne grinned almost as proudly as Dylan over his new niece while Olin shook his head and told the former soldier that he must have done something right to have earned a treasure.

Orrin stared at her in wide-eyed surprise for several long moments after being introduced and then blurted out, "You're the Welsh nightingale, Mairwen McTavish!" He flushed a deep red when all eyes turned towards him.

Finn and Kil stared at him before turning their wide-eyed gazes back to her. She gave them both a cheery grin. "Something gone amiss there, fellas?"

Kil shook his head. "Son of a-!"

"Watch your mouth!" Dylan shot out from the other side of the room.

"What?" he demanded. "She's famous! It's not every day I get told I know someone famous!"

"Famous?" Thorne turned to her.

"Depends on the sort of music you listen to," she replied. "I do some international folk and it's been getting popular." Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Music goes in cycles, you know, and people are looking for a new sound. I'm lucky in my timing, catching the change as it's building up."

Finn stared at her, his lips twitching in amusement. "I didn't even notice," he told her. "I've got most of your music on my phone and it never even clicked."

"It's not like I'm dressed up or acting the part," Mairwen replied. "Plus you have a different set of memories to connect with my face. Orrin doesn't." She gave the younger man a smile. "I never met Ori, remember? Ori or Óin."

"It's just…weird," Kil shook his head. "Totally weird."

"Only for you," she laughed as she reached out to tug on a lock of his hair. Her gaze moved around the circle before landing on Thorne. "You've got a full house," she noted, changing the subject without bothering to be subtle.

"I do," he agreed, happiness radiating from him. "And it feels like home…finally." He watched as smiles flickered from face to face. Peace and contentment burrowed into his skin. If he could only freeze this moment, hold the entire world still in this blink of time.

Dylan sat forward. "I hate to be the killjoy," he began.

"Sure you do," Balfour looked up at the ceiling, seeming to examine it.

"What are you looking for?" Dylan demanded.

"The lightning bolt."

'The what?"

Balfour gave him a wide-eyed look. "The lightning bolt," he repeated. "I figure it should be hitting any moment now with the size of that whopper you just told." The room rumbled with quiet amusement.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up." Dylan gave him a half-hearted glare before turning to look at Thorne and Billy where they sat near the television. "Anybody else remember there's a reason we're here?" His lips thinned and he took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm happy to see you all again," he told them, taking a moment to meet everyone's gaze, lingering on Mairwen, "but we've still got a problem to be solved."

"Smaug." Thorne dropped the word into the silence.

"Aye, the dragon," Dylan nodded. "And human one at that."

"Speaking of which," Mairwen leaned forward to focus on Billy and Thorne, though everyone could see her fingers tighten on Finn's. "What the hell are we going to do about a _human_ dragon? It's not like we can put an arrow through him."

"Not without getting arrested," Blayne nodded. "The authorities would have us in cages before we could blink."

"Only if we got caught," Nye pointed out. The others looked at him and he shrugged. "I'm just saying."

"That's why we're here," Thorne took control of the conversation before Doran could start the lecture everyone saw brewing in his face. "I asked Gandalf to summon any who would were willing to face the dragon again. I know you came for family," he acknowledged as he took in the various groups. "For friendship too," he added with a quick smile towards Billy. "But at the end of it all – there's still Smaug. This world, this modern world – they know nothing of dragons, not of the reality of them. Should Smaug remember his past, remember who and what he was, no one – save us – will have any real chance against the years of experience he will acquire in a single moment of remembrance."

"And our chances are remote enough," Blayne put in. He sighed when Thorne looked at him. "Some of us are too old for playing warrior," he admitted. "And we don't have the gift of Dwarven toughness any longer."

"True," Thorne nodded, "but we've got brains and experience – not to mention new gifts and experiences from our current lives." He shook his head. "I refuse to believe that Mahal – or any of the Valar – would release our souls to be reborn if we didn't have a chance at defeating our enemy. We just need to put our shoulders to the wheel and get to work."

"_Deuparth gwaith yw ei ddechrau_," Mairwen nodded, only to snicker when everyone but her father gave her a blank look. "Sorry," she managed around her giggles. "I said – 'Starting the work is two thirds of it.'"

"Exactly." Thorne drew himself up, his shoulders straightening and eyes flashing. "I made a lot of mistakes in the past," he acknowledged, "but in the end we refused to let evil have our world. We all played a part in driving it away or out and making it safer for ordinary folk to live." He folded his arms over his chest. "I refuse to let them take now, by subterfuge, what they couldn't take then by force of arms. I intend to fight." He scanned the room, letting his eyes meet and hold the gaze of every other person in the room. "Will you stand with me?"

In near perfect harmony – as if scripted and practiced – everyone rose to their feet in a move of silent solidarity and individual determination. Thorne could not prevent the proud smile that spread over his face. Here they stood – the Company once more – ready to take on the impossible and to renew the legends of their past.

"Well, good to see that's settled," Balfour grinned as he tossed on arm around Byford and the other around Billy. "Now that we lunatics have decided to trip down a merry road to a dragon's den once more, should we seal it with a brew?"

Laughter rang out, a weapon against the dark in and of itself, announcing to the Valar or anyone else who might be watching:

_**We are, and will remain, united against the dark.**_


End file.
